A Different Kind of Hell
by dnachemlia
Summary: When faced with a terrible personal tragedy, one Winchester brother unwittingly starts down the path to a different kind of Hell. AU, starts pre-series and picks up with the series later. Not a "Deal" fic, and quite weird.
1. Chapter 1

And another episode of "When Plot Bunnies Attack". This idea hit me, and I couldn't get rid of it so I wrote it down.

Not a "Deal" fic. It starts pre-series but picks up with the series beginning later on. AU, will be rather long, and quite weird.

When faced with a terrible personal tragedy, one Winchester brother unwittingly starts down the path to a different kind of Hell.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

Please let me know what you think.

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_November 2002_

_Palo Alto, California_

Sam woke with a start, groaned, and groggily reached up to rub his stiff neck. He had fallen asleep at his desk, using one of his open textbooks as an impromptu pillow, and briefly wondered if he, as his friends often teased, would look in the mirror and see the text transferred to his face like some sort of weird rub-on tattoo.

He looked around, blearily, and saw that his roommate, Luis, was in a similar situation at his own desk. Sam grinned. They had both been studying hard for this week's exams, suffering through long nights and junk food binges, but Sam couldn't be happier. He was in his element, working his way towards his dream of a normal, no, _safe_ life.

A sudden loud knock on the door startled Sam out of his reverie and prompted an annoyed "_The Hell…?_" from Luis. He sat up and gave Sam a confused look.

"You expecting somebody?" Sam shook his head as whoever it was knocked again, louder. Luis growled out something unintelligible as Sam went to see who it was.

When he opened the door, the absolute last person he expected to see was standing in the hallway. He stood frozen in denial for a brief second before forcing out a single word.

"Dad?"

He heard Luis scramble to his feet and step up behind him as he stared at the man whose last words to his son had been _"never come back."_ He felt panic, quickly followed by anger. John was here to drag him back into the hunt, he was sure of it. How dare he…?

Sam met his father's eyes and received an even greater shock. They held none of the anger and determination Sam had associated with his father for as long as he could remember. The skin around John's eyes was dark and sunken, and Sam saw that the rest of his face was pinched, as if he had neither slept nor eaten for days, and his normally clean shaven face was marred with a weeks' worth of growth.

"Dad? What--?"

John raised his arm and for a brief moment Sam thought his father was going to hit him until he saw that John's fist was loose, as if he were holding something. Hesitantly, Sam held out a hand and felt a metal object fall into his open palm. When he saw what it was, he gasped and looked up at his father, not wanting to believe what this meant. John cleared his throat.

"I…I know you gave that to him. He would have wanted you to have it." Without another word, he turned and walked down the hall. Sam stood stock still has he watched his father's departing back, tears welling in his eyes.

_No. No, it can't…he isn't…he left me a message two weeks ago...how…?_

"Sam?" Luis' voice broke through his panicked thoughts. "Was that --?  
Without a word, Sam raced down the hall after his father, unmindful of Luis' protests and shouted questions, his brother's amulet still clutched in one hand.

When he reached the parking lot, he saw his father opening the door of the Impala. Sam ran up to him and grabbed his shoulder and John slowly turned to face his youngest son.

"What the hell happened?" Sam shouted, his voice shaking with fury. "Did you mess up? Did you get him killed, you and your damn obsession? _Did you?!_"

John just stared at Sam, his face unreadable and unresponsive to Sam's fury. Slowly he lowered his eyes.

"You shouldn't be out here without shoes on, Sammy." The tone of his father's voice brought Sam's rage of emotion to an abrupt halt. He had never heard him sound like that.

"What…?"

"Go back inside. Back to your friends, back to your new life. It's what you wanted. Someone in this family should get what they want. It might as well be you. Go." He turned and climbed into the car before slamming the door with a finality that Sam felt in the depth of his heart.

The engine roared to life and the huge black car that had been his home left him behind with a screech of tires, its' taillights fading and finally disappearing into the night.

Sam was broken from his daze by Luis.

"Sam? What the hell, man? Who was that? What--?"

"Not now," growled Sam. He turned, brushing past his friend, and marched back to his room.

He opened his footlocker, shoving aside books and clothes before he found the small notebook Dean had slipped into his pocket before he had left home for good. He flipped to the first page, pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed the number, ignoring Luis' return. It rang three times before a voice from his childhood answered.

"_Hello?_"

"Pastor Jim?" He caught Luis' puzzled look and waved him away. Luis took the hint and left.

"_Sam? What's wrong? Where are you?_" Sam huffed, trying to keep the tears and panic out of his voice.

"School. Dad was just here, and he…Dean…" Sam struggled to remain coherent. "Do you know what happened?" He heard a sigh on the other end.

"_We were wondering where John went. Sam, I'm sorry._" The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over and tracked down Sam's cheeks.

"Please, just tell me what happened. What were they hunting?"

"_They weren't, Sam. They weren't_."

"What?"

"_They decided to stay in one place for awhile, to recover after a particularly difficult hunt I guess. Some little town in southwestern Colorado. Dean and John both got jobs at a garage, they were renting a house, living as close to normal as your family gets. They had been in town for three months when Dean disappeared_."

"Disappeared? But I thought--?"

"_John came back to the house one night and the place was a wreck. Dean must have put up a heck of a fight, but the only trace John found was the amulet Dean always wore. He called Caleb and Joshua, and they called me. We all searched for Dean, but he just… vanished. No trace of what took him, either. John was devastated. A couple of days ago he just up and left. Caleb started to try and track him, but…_"

"He showed up here about 15 minutes ago. He…he gave me Dean's necklace and…left. He told me to go back to my new life and he _left!_" Sam's voice cracked as the anger came back. "How could he do that? _How--?_"

"_Sam…I'm not going to excuse him, but…I never saw your father like that before, the way he was when we all realized Dean was gone. I think it finally broke him. I never thought it would happen, after everything he has seen, but…I guess everyone has their breaking point. I'm sorry." _Sam clutched the phone as if it were a lifeline. A lifeline to the only family he had left. He made a decision.

"Where in Colorado?"

"_Sam…_"

"Where were they living in Colorado? My father might be ready to give up on Dean, but I'm not. Where--?"

"_Sam_." Pastor Jim's voice had suddenly taken on an edge, one Sam had only heard a few times, usually directed at John. "_There's nothing you can do. Believe me, we tried. We searched everywhere. No one knows how to search better than your father. Dean's gone, Sam. Remember him as he was. He wouldn't have wanted anything else_."

Sam sat in silence, thinking back to the last time he had seen his brother. Dean had asked only one thing: _Make me proud, Sammy_.

"_Sam?_"

"Yeah, OK. I just wish…"

"_We all do, Sam. We all do_."

"Pastor Jim? Thank you…for everything."

"_Please, if you ever need anything, just call. I'll do what I can. Sam, your brother…he was one of a kind. And he loved you more than anything. Just remember that, OK? He wanted you to be happy_."

"I know."

"_Take care of yourself, Sam_."

"I…I will. Thanks."

He snapped the phone shut, breaking the connection to his old life for the last time. He knew he'd never call again. It would hurt too much. He would take care of himself, and he would do what Dean had asked.

He would make his brother proud.

* * *

_November 2002_

_Somewhere in southwestern Colorado_

Dean slowly opened his eyes, expecting darkness, and the white brightness of the room was shocking. He gasped and blinked several times to clear his vision before examining his surroundings.

_Hospital. What…where…Dad…?_

A flicker of movement to his left drew his attention, and when he turned his head he saw a middle aged man with thinning hair and wire rimmed glasses perched on a crooked nose, dressed in a lab coat.

"Ah, good to see you awake, Dean. How are you feeling?"

_What kind of stupid question is that? I'm in a freaking hospital, I can't be feeling too good._

"I, uh…" _Damn, my throat hurts._ "What happened?"

"You were in an accident, so. Do you remember?" _Accident? Oh, no…_

"My Dad…where is he? Is he OK?" He caught a glimpse of the doctor's expression and felt a horrible twist in his stomach.

"No…no, please, don't…"

"I'm so sorry, Dean. Really, truly sorry." Dean stared at him, his young face crumpling in grief.

"How?" he managed to ask.

"The driver of another vehicle, a truck, apparently lost control. He hit the driver's side of your father's car. You were ejected from the vehicle, but it was dragged by the truck down into a ravine. There were no other survivors. I'm sorry."

_Stop saying that…_

"My brother…I need to call my brother. He needs to know--."

"Dean, your brother was in the car." Dean froze, staring at the doctor in horror.

"What? No, that's impossible. Sammy's at college, he--."

"I'm sorry, I should have realized. Short-term amnesia is to be expected after the type of injury you sustained."

"I think I'd remember my brother coming back from college! You're wrong. Sammy wouldn't be with us. He wasn't with us!"

"Dean, there were three bodies recovered from the wreckage, one from the truck and two from the car. They have all been positively identified. Your brother is dead, Dean. I'm very--."  
"_Don't tell me you're sorry!_ You don't know how..._you don't know my family!"_

"Actually, I do. Or rather, I knew your father." Shocked into temporary silence, Dean stared at the doctor, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"How?"

"I knew him back when I was in his unit, but we met up again a few years ago. He helped me with a little problem. I know what your family did, what they hunted. They were good people." He leaned in closer his face set with a sympathetic expression. "I feel your loss, and I'd like to help you."

"Help me?" Dean snorted in disgust, tears running down his face. "No one can help me. All the evil that I've put down and it didn't make one damn bit of difference."

"Dean…I am in a position to help you make a difference. You, and all of the other hunters like you, are severely outnumbered, outgunned, and at the mercy of evil things which shouldn't exist, but do. I can help you turn the tables, give you advantages you've never had before."

"Yeah, right…and why should I believe you?"

"Why shouldn't you? I know you've never been a position to trust outsiders. I have had the same problem. No one believes what we know to be true. But I do believe I can trust you. I need you to believe I can help you. We can make a difference, eliminate the evil that has plagued your family since you were a child."

"How?" Dean didn't really care. His mind kept going back to his own loss. He wasn't sure he could go on without his family. He felt lost, empty, his whole bleak life stretching out before him. He was alone.

"By helping you reduce your disadvantages when facing the supernatural."

"Again, how?"

"I've been working on the development of certain…enhancements."

"Enhancements? Like what? Purer holy water? Higher grade salt? You're nuts. Leave me alone."

"I assure you, I am not 'nuts'. It's _my_ area of expertise, and you are the perfect candidate."

"Candidate? For what?"

"We can talk about that later. For now, just get some rest." The doctor's expression softened. "I know you're grieving, Dean. I understand. I've lost family to evil, too. But if we work together, we can continue the fight your father started. Your family won't have died in vain. I hope you'll be willing to work with me." He turned away from Dean's bed and walked towards the door.

"Doc?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Do you really think…would my Dad have worked with you?" The doctor smiled.

"Yes, I think he would have. I think he would have embraced whatever was necessary to find your mother's killer." Dean winced at the mention of his mother by a stranger, but after a few moments he nodded.

"OK. I'll do it for Dad. And Sammy. Whatever it takes."

"Thank you." He opened the door and a nurse came in, walking over to Dean's bed and checking his vitals. The doctor gave him one last smile before walking out into the hallway, leaving Dean to his grief.

"Well? Did he agree?" Dr. Smith turned to see another man in a lab coat approaching.

"Yes, he did, although he is unaware of the details."

"He doesn't need the details. Besides, we have him here, everything is ready, so we didn't really need his assent."

"True, but it works out better in the long run if the subject is at least partially willing. We give him a purpose, one he understands, and he'll be pretty much unshakable in his focus on the cause."

"I'm not so sure about you feeding his delusions. I mean, all this, all what we're planning to do to him, and he thinks it's for fighting monsters? Seems risky."

"Monsters come in all forms, Dr. Jones. Human monsters can be much worse than any delusion. It shouldn't be hard for him to make the transition."

"I suppose you're right. I'll let them know to get the Facility ready for him. I take it we'll be starting tomorrow?"

"I think that will be appropriate. I'll bring him in at oh-eight hundred hours."

"We'll be waiting."

Dr. Smith watched Dr. Jones (or whatever his real name was) walk back down the hall to the elevator. Smith waited until he was gone before dropping his professional smile and snorting in disgust.

_Idiots, the lot of them. _

All they cared about was their "War on Terror", creating new means, mechanical _and_ human, to defeat those who threatened their lovely little illusions of safety. Smith had been brought on board to help create a certain type of weapon, one that would allow better access to secrets kept behind enemy lines. But he knew where the real war was, and it wouldn't be fought between countries, but between the Earth and Hell itself. He had read the accounts and prophesies, seen the signs, and he knew the truth.

A storm was coming.

If he could help those who fought against Hell, those who had dedicated their lives to stopping the evil that so few truly knew existed, then humans stood a much better chance of survival. He had managed to get in the position to realize this goal, and he now had the means to implement it: the son of a hunter, a hunter himself, who had grown up fighting in this war. He was their best hope. The enhancements Smith had planned for Dean would help him tip the scales in the hunter's favor. Knowledge and skills were important, but at the end of the day it never hurt to have an ace in the hole.

Dean Winchester would be that ace, and humans would win this game.

Come Hell or high water.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to all who reviewed and/or added to their alerts and favorites.

So, here's a little more. Reviews are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

Chapter 2

_May 2, 2004_

_Palo Alto, California_

"Happy birthday, Sam!"

Sam glanced up from the textbook he had been reading to see his friend holding a bottle of beer in each hand, one of which was extended to him.

"No thanks, Luis. I'm studying."

"What, I drag you to a bar, you're finally legal, and all you want to do is study? C'mon man, live a little!"

"Sorry."

"You are such a buzz kill, you know that?" Sam winced, remembering when Dean had used that particular description.

"Yeah, I know. I shouldn't even be here in the first place, but you're always telling me how great this place is. How could I resist?"

"If this is 'not resisting', I'd hate to see you put on the full brakes." Luis set the beer on the table and slid into the booth opposite Sam. "Look man, I know you're trying to be the best of the best, but c'mon, everyone needs to take a break once in awhile. Even Super Geek."

"Bite me," Sam muttered with a slight grin as he turned his attention back to his reading.

"You're hopeless." Luis took a long pull on his own beer and used the bottle to point to Sam's. "At least drink that before it gets warm. I hate to think I wasted my hard-earned cash in an attempt to get you to have fun." Sam nodded, not even looking up from his book.

"I'll be back," intoned Luis in a passable impression. He slid out of the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

Sam finished his chapter and checked his watch. It was time to head out. He started to gather up his things when a new voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Your name is Sam, right? Sam Winchester?" Sam looked up to see a tall, blue eyed blonde staring at him with an inquisitive expression on her face.

"Ye-ah?"

"I'm Jessica. Jessica Moore. We had a class together last quarter." He glanced around the room until he saw Luis who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up sign. Sam groaned inwardly and turned his attention back to the girl. He smiled awkwardly.

"Comparative religion. Yeah, I remember. You brought up some good points." _Lame, Sam._ He could almost hear his brother's amused voice.

"Thanks. I remember you really seemed to know your stuff." She slid into the booth. "You even knew stuff the professor didn't. I was impressed."

"Really? Uh…thanks." He could feel himself starting to blush. "So, uh…what brings you here?"

"It's a good place to hang out, I guess. My roommates like it. Not much opportunity for interesting conversation, though. I was going to leave when I saw you and decided to stop by. You don't mind, do you?"

"No. I, uh…no. It's good."

"That's great. Your friend said you were taking a break from studying? What class?"

"Sociology of Law."

"Oh, so you're pre-law?"

"Yeah. Well, I'm thinking about law school. A lot." _Smooth, Sam, real smooth._

"Awesome. I'm pre-med, myself."

"Really? That's…that's great. Must be tough, I mean, you know, lots of competition."

"Yeah, but I'm motivated. Law school's tough, too, I hear, so I guess you're motivated, too? Everyone thinks you're really…intense." She blushed when she apparently realized what she had said.

"They do, huh? What…what do you think?" She smiled and Sam felt a pleasant twist in the pit of his stomach.

"I think we'll get along great."

* * *

_May 2, 2004_

_The Facility_

_Somewhere in southwestern Colorado_

Dean was lying on his bed, on his stomach, staring at the TV with a blank expression. Back in his old life he had loved this movie, but _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ lost something when you really were locked up somewhere. Especially in this place. While there was no Nurse Ratched, and no one had attempted to give him a lobotomy (yet), there were a whole slew of other things that had been done to him, all in the name of science.

And he had agreed to it.

He thought back to when he first woken up in the hospital, eighteen months ago, and the promises the doctor had made: that he would be given an advantage in his fight against the supernatural; that his Dad would have agreed to do this, to do whatever was necessary to find his mother's killer.

What a crock.

When he found out what they really had in mind, it had been too late. He didn't exist anymore. His family was gone, his friends thought he was dead, and there was no way out. So he had let them do it. He hated himself for it, for his weakness, for allowing himself to be swayed by the words of a stranger during the darkest hour of his grief.

_We are all just prisoners here, of our own device…_

That line had occurred to him more than once during his stay here. It seemed fitting, even though he had signed on to this due to a sense of duty rather than plain greed, he still felt he deserved to be here. Somehow, he had failed his family, and he deserved his punishment, deserved the hell he was being put through, deserved what he had become.

A freak.

Dean Winchester: freak of nature. Or science, as the case certainly was. They were expending so much time and effort to turn him into some kind of human weapon.

And he didn't care.

Dean's dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the electronic lock on his door disengaging. He didn't bother to look up. He knew who was there.

"Doctor Smith. Checking up on your last experiment on your favorite lab rat?"

"I am. How are you doing, Dean?"

"Peachy." Smith chuckled and walked over to Dean. He bent down to examine Dean's back, the site of the project's last and most intensive "enhancement".

"Everything looks perfect. Ready for a test run?"

"Hmmm. Let me think on that…Hell, no."

"Dean…"

"Go away, Doc. Go play with some other guinea pig."

Smith sighed. He knew when he chose Dean that he had an attitude towards authority figures, with the exception of his father, and this response was to be expected. It didn't make it any less frustrating.

"Dean, I'm trying to help you."

"Sure you are. You and your friends. You know, when you said that before, that you could help me and you had these 'enhancements', and then I said I'd do whatever it took, this sure as Hell wasn't what I had in mind, on all counts. Your friends seem to have other things in mind as well."

"They don't know what you and I know. Listen, the only way I could get to this point, to be able to help you, was to cooperate with them. If you cooperate, I promise, I _swear_ to you, you'll be able to go back to hunting. In the mean time, go along with them, and prepare to hunt human monsters. If nothing else, it will be good practice when you do get back to hunting." Dean stared at him for a minute, then rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"Doc, I've seen enough movies to know how this ends: they'll never let me go."

"Never say never, Dean. Fate favors the prepared."

"Thank you, Doctor Fortune Cookie." Smith chuckled. At least the boy had kept his sense of humor.

"Dean…look. We've finished the changes. Everything from here on out will just be fine tuning. You can start getting ready to fight, as you're meant to do. You would be much better off to go along with it. Prove to the others what you're made of, what you can do, and put all of this to use. No matter what, you'll be helping people. That's really what you live for, isn't it?" Dean groaned. Doc knew what buttons to press, that was for sure. And he supposed it would feel better to at least do _something_.

"Doc, your bedside manner sucks. But I don't have a choice, do I?" Smith smiled and shook his head.

"I'm sorry Dean. But trust me, one day, you will be ready to return to the battle you've been fighting all your life. And the bad guys won't know what hit them."

"Whatever." Dean returned his attention to the TV, effectively dismissing Smith without another word.

* * *

_May 2, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"Happy birthday, Sam!"

Sam stared with surprise and barely hidden delight at the treat Jess placed in front of him: a single cupcake, iced and decorated with sprinkles, with four candles stuck in it.

"Looks great, Jess. Thanks. But why four candles?"

"Because 22 wouldn't fit, so I improvised. Two, and two. See?" Sam laughed. He couldn't believe how lucky he was, and how much he loved this girl. Jess started digging around in her purse.

"Where are my matches? We need to light these candles, so you can make a wish." She finally found the box of matches and proceeded to light the candles while Sam watched.

"What are your plans for the summer?" he asked, as if he didn't already know.

"Oh, you know, my internship, and a day or two of break before plunging back in to classes. How about you, all ready for studying for the LSAT and your stint in the law library?"

"Of course. It's too bad you couldn't find something local. I'm…"

"You'll miss me, I know." She gave him a kiss. "Now make your wish." Sam took a deep breath, not to blow out the candles, but to prepare himself for the next series of questions.

"And next year. Do you know where you'll be living?"

"Still in the dorm, I guess. I couldn't find a suitable roommate."

"What about me?"

"What about you?" He touched his brother's amulet which he had worn since his father had returned it to him. He could almost feel Dean's approval.

"Would you consider…" _Damn it, Sam, you can do this._ "…would you consider moving in with me?" Jess gazed at him for a moment and smiled.

"Yes, I would. I'd love to move in with you, Sam." He leaned over and kissed her, his joy so great it was almost painful. She returned the kiss. "Now, hurry up and make your wish."

"I already got my wish." She slapped him playfully.

"Make another."

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew his wish wouldn't be answered, but he made it anyway.

_I wish Dean was here_.

* * *

_May 2, 2005_

_Somewhere in southwestern Colorado._

Dean clung to the side of a large pine tree, his feet perched precariously on one of its' branches, as he watched the scene below in horror. The Facility that had been his home for two and a half years was engulfed in flames, with clouds of smoke billowing into the night sky and blocking out the moon overhead. Dean tried desperately to calm the thundering of his heart. He was almost sure the group below him would hear it. These people (and he was pretty sure they were just people) were responsible for this disaster.

During the past eighteen months, as Dean started to get used to the changes that had been made to his body, he had come to know more about the people that worked there. They were not all mindless drones as he had originally envisioned. They truly believed in their work, and the cause for which they were fighting. Most of them hadn't treated them as some sort of lab rat, but as an actual person. It made it that much worse for Dean to see them all perish, and his feelings of guilt resurfaced when he realized was the only one who had made it out.

Below him, the voices of those responsible confirmed his fears.

"No survivors."

"What about the subject? Did it make it out?"

_It? Bastards._

"I saw no evidence of an escape. We killed everyone on the grounds and torched the buildings. Nothing got out."

_Thank you, Doc._

Before the attack, Dr. Smith had shown up at Dean's room in a panic.

"_You have to get out of here Dean, now!"_

"_Wait, what--?"_

"_They're coming. My alarms were set off just a few minutes ago. They'll be here in less than ten minutes. We need to leave."_

After seeing the absolute terror in the doctor's eyes, Dean hadn't argued. He had grabbed his jacket and boots and followed the doctor through the maze of hallways before reaching a room he had never seen before. The doctor had pulled aside a panel in one of the walls to reveal a tunnel.

"_Emergency escape route. It ends up outside the perimeter fence in that big grove of pine trees on the north side. If I'm not there in twenty minutes, leave, and don't come back."_

"_But--?"_

"_GO!"_ He had shoved Dean into the tunnel and closed it off behind him. His heart in his throat, Dean had rushed through the tunnel as fast as he could. When he had reached the exit, he had quickly made his way up the nearest tree to get out of sight and wait for the doctor. Soon he had heard the sounds of an attack: gunfire, explosions, and terrified screams. He had closed his eyes and struggled against the panic that had surged up from within.

Now he waited for them to leave, fighting the urge to drop out of the tree into the group and start swinging. He knew he was out numbered, unarmed, and (as Doc had pointed out on numerous occasions) _not_ bullet-proof. So he waiting, listening to more of the conversation below, wondering if he could get enough information about these people to track them down.

"How much longer do we wait?"

"Alpha is making one last sweep. As soon as they get back, then we can go."

"Are you sure no one knows we're here?"

"Positive."

"What about the project?"

"All record were destroyed, all data has been wiped from the offsite storage units."

"What about the subject? Any family remaining who might try to track it down?"

Dean held his breath. This was the moment of truth.

"The records indicated that all of its family is deceased. We have no reason to believe otherwise. They were very thorough in keeping background records."

"Good. No loose ends. Here comes Alpha. Let's go."

He heard them march off into the forest and a few minutes later the sound of their engines echoed through the night. Dean waited until it was completely silent before leaving his perch and returning to the ground. He stared at the fire in silence as tears rolled down his cheeks. Everything he knew was gone, and he was right back where he had been three years ago: alone. He thought of his father and Sam, and what he had agreed to do to honor them. Finally, he made his decision. This time would be different. He was on his own, but he would make it; he would keep fighting.

And heaven help anyone who got in his way.

* * *

A/N: The line "we are all just prisoners here, of our own device" is from _Hotel California_, by the Eagles.


	3. Chapter 3

OK, thanks again to all those who reviewed/alerted/added to favorites.

Not so much Sam in this chapter, and I added another character (not a love interest, don't worry). Please let me know what you think.

And for those who were wondering, the boys will be reunited in the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada.

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_Chapter 3_

_May 6, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"…_authorities in Dove Creek, a small town in southwestern Colorado…"_

Sam sat bolt upright in bed and quickly reached over to fumble with the volume knob on his clock radio. He leaned over, listening intently.

"…_investigating a fire which destroyed several buildings belonging to a private storage company. Details have not been released, but it is believed that the fire was started deliberately. Firefighters are struggling to keep the blaze under control, but fifteen thousand acres of forest have already been consumed by the fire. Local historic preservation activists have voiced their alarm…"_

Sam collapsed back on his bed and groaned. _It's not what you thought…_ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, wincing as he rubbed his head and stumbled out to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Fifteen minutes later he was joined by Luis.

"You're up early. Or did you even go to bed last night?"

"Yeah, I got some sleep. I've got an early morning review session." Luis shook his head and paused, staring at Sam with concern.

"You OK? You look a little freaked out."

"No man, it's nothing. I just had a really weird dream."

"Oh yeah? What was it? You missed a question on a final exam?"

"Yeah, something like that," he responded with a weak smile. Luis chuckled and shook his head.

"You are such a geek, man. I thought Jess would have broken you of that by now."

"She's trying, I think."

"Good luck to her, then." Luis poured himself a cup of coffee and shuffled back to his room. Sam leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed his temples as he remembered details of the nightmare.

_Running…darkness...pain…fear…_

_Dean._

* * *

_May 6, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah, near the Nevada border_

Dean had been traveling for over three days straight without sleep or food, and he had no freaking clue where he was. After the fire, he had headed pretty much due west with no idea why. Finally, after following a gravel road for two miles past the last town, he stopped to lean up against a chain link fence to rest.

That was when he saw her.

_That's impossible…it can't be…_

Behind the fence, next to a squat cement building, sat a stark reminder of his old life. He stared at her in wonder as he felt a host of memories wash over him. Suddenly, his senses awoke, and he spun around to stare at the person standing behind him.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked. She appeared to be in her late thirties, average height and build, and dressed in dark blue coveralls, sunglasses and a worn baseball hat. Her short dark hair was visible around the edges of the cap.

"No, uh…sorry, I was just looking…"

"Beaut, ain't she? Or at least, she would be, if I had the time to fix her up." Dean raised an eyebrow.

"She's yours?"

"Yep. Buddy of mine hauled her in for me. Found her abandoned outside some fleabag motel down in Cedar City. He knew I always wanted one, so he gave me a good deal. I've been meaning to work on her for over two years, but work just keeps piling up." She tilted her head and studied him. "You OK, buddy? You look plum worn out."

"I, uh…I'm OK. Sorry to bother you." He started to walk away but only made it a few steps before staggering and almost face-planting in the gravel. The woman hurried over to him, placed a callused hand under his arm and helped him to his feet.

"C'mon, buddy, I got you. Let's get you inside, OK? You can practice the macho act later." She closed the gate and guided him to building and through the garage bay to the office where she led him to a battered recliner. He sank into it with relief. She walked over to a small counter and rattled around in the cabinet overhead before pulling out a chipped mug and filling it with coffee from the pot on the counter.

"Do you want anything in it? I've probably got some sugar around here somewhere."

"Black is fine, thanks." She handed him the cup and he inhaled the wonderful aroma before talking a sip. It had been years since he'd had coffee, and this was worth the wait.

"Mmm. Thanks."

"No problem." She reached under the counter and brought out a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars. Dean's stomach rumbled. Usually he hated that stuff, but at this point he didn't care.

"Eat those, and then maybe you'll be able to make it to the kitchen where I can fix you a real breakfast."

"Thanks, uh…" He looked at the patch on her coveralls, but it simply said "_Grease Monkey_".

"Cora. Cora Harding. And you are?"

"Dean." She stared at him, obviously waiting to hear his surname. "Just Dean."

"Well, Just Dean, do you mind telling me how you wound up outside my yard? I don't get too many random visitors."

"It's a long story."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I, uh, got lost. Lost…everything. In a fire. I've been trying to…get to California."

"Sorry to hear that. Is there anyone I can call for you? To let them know you're OK, maybe come and get you?"

"I don't have anyone…anymore."

"So why to California?"

"It seemed as good a place as any." He tore open one of the granola bars and practically inhaled it. He took another gulp of coffee to wash it down and noticed that Cora was staring at him intently.

"You're not some kind of fugitive, are you?" He chuckled weakly.

"No, the police don't care about me. I promise." He gave her his most innocent, wide-eyed expression and she laughed.

"No, but you're still trouble, ain't ya? Luckily that won't work on me."

"Oh. Uh…"

"If you don't have wheels, I'm not interested. Now then, tell me, do you know anything about cars? Other than an appreciation for their finest forms," she said, nodding towards the front of the building.

"I know my way around an engine."

"Good, I think we might be able to help each other, J.D." He raised an eyebrow at the new nickname, but didn't comment on it.

"And why would you want to help a complete stranger? You know nothing about me. I could be some sort of—" _freak_ "—psycho."

"But you're not. I can tell."

"Oh yeah? How?" She sighed.

"Let's head over to the house. I think breakfast would put you in a better frame of mind. C'mon." She held out her hand and helped him out of the chair. Dean groaned. After three days on the run, he really didn't want to get up again, but he managed to haul himself up and follow Cora.

The house was cement block, like the garage, but when he stepped through the door, Dean was amazed at the difference. It looked like a real home, with dark curtains on the windows, clean, slightly worn furniture, and dozens of pictures adorning the whitewashed walls. He followed Cora to the kitchen and took a seat at the heavy wooden table.

"Bacon and eggs okay with you?" she asked as she stared pulling cookware out of the cabinets.

"That'd be great. Thanks." _Bacon_. Another treat he hadn't been allowed for years. He watched her as she started to work, slowly sinking lower and lower in his seat until his chin was resting on the table. He closed his eyes, sniffed, and smiled dreamily. _Smells so good…_

The clatter of a plate and silverware on the table startled him from his daze. He sat up abruptly and rubbed his eyes before starting down at the plate in front of him.

"Looks…awesome." Cora laughed. He grabbed a fork and began eagerly shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down there, Ace. You'll make yourself sick." Dean saw real concern in her expression and swallowed, guiltily.

"Sorry."

"When's the last time you had decent food, J.D.?" _Decent? About two and a half years ago._

"Um, what's today?"

"May 6th. Friday."

"Uh…Three days? Almost four." She huffed in disgust.

"If I had known that I would have fixed you something lighter. Just go easy, OK?" He nodded and continued to eat as slowly as he could while his stomach rumbled in protest. When he finally managed to clean his plate, he sat back in the chair and gave a contented sigh.

"Thanks, Cora. That was…great."

"You're welcome. Now, are you ready to discuss an arrangement?"

"I guess, but I still don't know why you'd help someone like me. Do you take in stray men often?" She chuckled.

"Hardly. You do need help, though, that I know."  
"Again, how? You said you could tell I'm not some psycho. You psychic or something?"

"Not exactly. I've always been really good at reading people, knowing what they're feeling, knowing whether or not they're lying to me. Now you, for instance, I know what you told me before is the truth, just not all of it. There's something else that you're hiding, but not because you want to hurt me. In fact, I'd say it was just the opposite. I'm right, ain't I?" Dean stared at her in wonder for a minute before answering.

"Yeah, you are."

"I also know you don't really trust people. You don't trust me all that much right now, but you're working your way up to it, I think." She looked up at him for confirmation and he hesitantly nodded. "You're hurting, not just because of whatever just happened, but from something that's been troubling you for awhile now. I know you don't want to tell me, and you don't need to. I just need you to know that you can trust me. OK?"

"OK."

"Here's what I propose: you say you know cars and I need another set of hands around here. You work for me in the garage and you'll get room and board. I can't really pay you outright, because if nothing else I'm damn honest about my payroll and I have a suspicion you don't have the proper paperwork. What I can do is arrange for you to have one of the cars to work on for yourself until you can _get_ the proper paperwork. Hell, maybe even that Chevy if you prove yourself. So, do we have a deal?"

"What if I can't get the paperwork?"

"Then we'll figure something out. Listen J.D., if nothing else, you really look like you could use a break from whatever it is you're running from. Seriously, kid, you need to do this. For yourself. OK?" Dean was overwhelmed with a feeling of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hadn't forgotten his promise. He would get back to hunting, but right now he needed to do this: to rest, to rebuild, to prepare himself for the fight that was coming. Finally he met Cora's eyes and nodded.

"OK."

* * *

_August 6, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

Sam sat up in bed, heart hammering in his chest as the images from his nightmare flashed though his mind.

_Blood…fire…Jess splayed on the ceiling…Dean, fear in his eyes, a gun pointed at his face…whispers…"why, Sam?"_

Sam ran a shaking hand over his face.

_It doesn't mean anything. Just random memories, applied to your life now. You're afraid of losing Jess like you lost everyone else. _

He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of the nightmare, but he knew it would be a long time before he would sleep again.

* * *

_August 6, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

Dean woke with an immediate feeling of fear.

_Something is wrong…_

He grabbed the knife from under his pillow and sat up, waiting, listening. After three months he had become very familiar with the sounds, smells, and feel of Cora's house. His own room, at the opposite end of the house from Cora's, appeared perfectly normal, but he could tell, could sense, that something, somewhere, was out of place. Silently, he made his way to his door and unlocked it, knife at the ready, as he eased the door open and stepped, barefoot, out into the hallway. He tried to tell himself that it was nothing, imagination, but he knew better.

At the end of the hall, he turned and crept to the kitchen. His senses were now confirming what he had believed before: someone was in the house. Pressed against the wall, he saw a man step through the front door with a gun in his hand. He gripped the knife harder and stepped out of the shadows to confront the intruder. He grabbed the man from behind and put the knife to his throat.

"Drop it." The man froze.

"Who the Hell are you?"

"I'm the guy telling you to drop the gun. Now do it." The man slowly started to lower his hand to the floor and then suddenly slammed his elbow into Dean's ribcage, driving the breath out of him. He staggered from the force of the blow and the man spun around, shoving the gun in his face. Dean froze.

_Huh. Some great secret weapon you are. Getting soft, there, Dean._

"Well, well. Looks like the bitch got herself a boy toy. Surprise, surprise." Dean's anger surged.

"Go to Hell." The intruder grinned and pressed the gun to Dean's forehead.

"You first." Before the intruder could pull the trigger, Dean struck with lightening speed, knocking the man to the floor. The gun went off, piercing a hole in the ceiling as the intruder struggled to get to his feet. Dean was on him in a flash, knocking the gun out of his hand and kicking and punching until the man screamed for mercy. Suddenly, the lights went on, and Dean froze.

"J.D.?" Cora was standing in the doorway, dressed on shorts and a t-shirt, staring at the two men.

"What the Hell?" Dean realized that she was not looking at the prone man, but at _him_. At his bare back, and the changes made to it as part of his enhancement. At the things Dean had been able to keep hidden from Cora for the past three months.

The things that marked him as a freak.

She stared at him in silence until the groans of the intruder jerked them both back to reality. She reached for the phone as Dean plucked the gun from the floor and aimed it at the intruder

"I'll call the cops. They'll get this sorted out. You, uh, you better go back to your room. We'll talk later."

Dean turned, placed the gun on the counter, and backed away from Cora until he reached the hall to his room.

"J.D.?"

"Yeah?"

"It's OK." She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. He stared at her for a moment before retreating to his room and locking the door.

By the time the cops had come and gone, taking the bastard with them, Dean had his things together. He didn't have much: a couple pairs of jeans and a few shirts that had belonged to Cora's father and had still been hanging in the closet when he moved into the room; a pair of mechanic's coveralls; and the jacket that he wore on the night he had fled the Facility. He stuffed everything into an old duffle bag he found in the back of the closet and slung it over his shoulder before opening the door and quietly stepping out into the hallway. When he reached the kitchen, he saw Cora sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in her hand, and another full cup sitting on the table opposite. She stared at him for a moment and sighed wearily.

"Have a seat, J.D."

"No, really, that's OK, I--."

"Sit." He slowly made his way to the chair and sat down.

"Do you know who that man was?"

"Uh…no."

"Well, it turns out he was responsible for a series of burglaries and rapes in the area, and his last victim didn't make it."

"Oh."

"So thank you, J.D. You did good tonight. I'm sorry you have such a low opinion of me, though."

"What?"

"You think I want you to leave, after I saw…"

"Yeah. Who needs a freak in the house, right?" She stared at him with hurt in her brown eyes.

"Apparently I do. No matter what, you saved me. That is what's important. Anything else…isn't."

"But--."

"Were you born like that?"

"I…no." Her eyes searched his.

"Then how?"

"I got myself into this, I don't know, project I guess."

"Someone _did_ that to you?"

"Yeah. That, and a bunch of other stuff." _The cat's already out of the bag. Might as well go for the whole thing._

"What else did they do?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yes, I do."

So he told her.

Three hours, and several cups of coffee later, Dean had explained everything. After a lifetime of keeping secrets, of hiding who he was, it was strangely liberating to tell someone everything. Not because he was looking for pity, but because he had to let it _out._ After he finished, he sat back and waited, not sure what to expect.

Cora simply looked at him for a long time, thinking. Finally she spoke.

"So…ghosts, demons, and monsters are real."

"Yep."

"And your family hunted them."

"That, too."

She thought for a few minutes longer.

"And this doctor, he and his…friends did this to you so you could fight them better?"

"Well, the Doc did, I'm not sure about the rest of them. They were more concerned into making me into some sort of spy or offensive weapon."

"I see. And this stuff they did to you…they made you stronger but lighter weight, more agile, and made you…bullet proof?"

"Not bullet proof, trauma resistant. I can still die if I get hit straight on at close range."

"And the other stuff: stronger sense of smell, better hearing, better vision, better _night_ vision…"

"Yep."

"Echo…uh?"

"Echolocation, so I can tell how far I am from something or if something might be heading toward me that I can't normally see."

"Like sonar…and last but not least…?

"Yeah…" Dean had removed his jacket and allowed the two strange, leathery appendages to unfold and stretch out from his back until they spanned the length of the kitchen, fifteen feet from tip to tip.

"Wings." She met his eyes. He looked back, waiting for her to scream, cry, or otherwise freak out or show disgust. He thought he had seen it building and he braced himself. Instead, she looked at him with childlike wonder.

"Dude, you're totally Batman."

He froze in shock for the span of several heartbeats and then, for the first time in years, Dean threw back his head and laughed.


	4. Chapter 4

This chapter brings the story up to when the series starts.

Last one for awhile. I've got work to do ;)

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

Some dialog was borrowed from the Pilot, episode 1.01

Please let me know what you think.

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_Chapter 4_

_September 2, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"Sam, are you OK?"

Sam saw the concerned expression on Jessica's face and immediately felt guilty.

I _shouldn't worry her like this. It's just my subconscious. It doesn't mean anything._

"Yeah, why?"

"You really look worn out. I know you didn't sleep much last night, so what's wrong? Are you worried about the test?"

"No, it's just…nothing. Start of the quarter stress, I guess."

"Well I know of something that will cheer you up."

"Yeah, what's that?" She reached into her purse and pulled out a small envelope which she handed to him. He looked inside and gave her a puzzled look.

"A baseball game? Jess, I…thanks, but--."

"No buts. You deserve a break every once in awhile. Come on, it will be fun!" He laughed softy and shook his head. _God he loved this girl_.

"I'm sure it will. Thanks."

"You're welcome," she said with a smile and leaned in for a kiss.

Later that night, he woke up from the strangest dream. He dreamt he was floating, high above the ground, the night wind ruffling his hair, bringing the scent of salt, smoke, and pine with it. The feeling of freedom was so intense he was almost disappointed when he woke up. He turned to the sleeping form of his girlfriend and smiled. He was sure he had her presence to thank for his first night of pleasant dreams in months. He sank back down to his pillow and closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of contentment.

* * *

_September 2, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

Dean felt a sharp slap on his ankle and he pulled himself out from under the Impala, blinking in the sunlight as he looked up at the figure that stood over him.

"What the Hell was that for?" he growled. Cora smirked.

"Got something for ya, J.D."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" She dropped a large envelope in his lap.

"Open it." He gave her a puzzled glance before yanking the tab on the envelope and looking inside. "What the--?" He pulled out a stack of papers and a small laminated card. He saw that it was a Utah driver's license and turned the card over to read the name that now belonged to a familiar face.

"Justin Dean Harding. How did you--?"

"I called in a favor." He raised an eyebrow.

"That must have been one Hell of a favor." She grinned.

"Oh trust me, it was. But you deserve it. Now you can take Black Beauty here out for a test drive and not worry about the local fuzz."

"But why…the last name?"

"I always wanted a little brother, or cousin as the case may be. You're legit now J.D., or as legit as you can be. You know what this means, don't you?"

"I have to start paying taxes?" She gave a wry chuckle.

"Yep. And you can have a real paycheck and a bank account. Which means you can buy what _you_ want now and not have to depend on me. You can get your baby back on the road and start doing what you've been wanting to do for a long time."

"Thanks. This…this means a lot."

"You're welcome. Now go get cleaned up… I have another surprise for you. We're going out tonight."

"Out? Cora, I…"

"Oh, not like that. I know how much you hate that idea. We're gonna be taking a ride, that's all."  
"A ride? On what? And where?"

"You'll see."

Dean had to admit, when he saw Cora wheel the monster of a bike out of the garage, he was a little worried. He had only been on a motorcycle once, and it had nowhere near the power of this beast.

"You want to drive?"

"Not really. Not my style." She chuckled and handed him a helmet.

"Hop on." He climbed onto the seat behind her and held onto the back seat rails for dear life. As they left the town behind, he started to relax. The area was desolate but there was a sense of comfort, of freedom that he hadn't had since he had been behind the wheel, cruising across the country with his father beside him and Sammy in the back. At the thought of his family, he felt a twist in the pit of his stomach.

_God, how he missed them._

Soon they left the flatlands and started up one of the rough roads that lead to the top of a mesa. When they reached the summit, Cora pulled the bike to a stop and cut the engine. Dean took off his helmet and looked out over the landscape.

"What do you think? It's not the Grand Canyon, but it's not bad."

"It's great, Cora. Really."

"So, you ready to fly?" He turned to her in surprise.

"What?"

"You know, Batman. Fly. Spread those wings and soar with the eagles. You've been wanting to do it ever since you got over your freak phobia."

"Who says I'm over it?" She gave him one of her cocky grins. He sighed.

"You know, you're just a little bit spooky."

"Yeah, I know. C'mon J.D., go have some fun. I'll meet you at the bottom. And no, you don't have to worry about anyone seeing you. No one's out here, trust me."

"I sure hope not." He handed her his jacket and helmet. She gave him the thumbs up, started the bike, and took off down the trail. He stepped to the edge of the mesa and looked out over the plain below.

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

He had flown before when he was in training at the Facility and when he had made his escape, but there was no joy in it then: just grudging acceptance or pure terror and necessity. But this time…

He opened his wings, let them unfold and stretch to their full span, let the foreign nerves and muscles reconnect with his own. And for the first time, it almost felt normal.

He stepped off the edge and snapped them out to catch the first updraft which carried him out over the plain. He felt the wind rushing by, smelled the tang of salt from the flats and the smoky odor of the pinion pines clinging to the sides of the mesa. He felt, for the first time, freedom.

And it was awesome.

* * *

_October 20, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"_Sam! Sam, wake _up_!"_

Sam's eyes snapped open and he sat up, gasping, his arms up in defense against the flames that threatened to engulf him from his dreams.

"Sam! What's wrong? Tell me!" The terror in Jessica's voice pulled him back to reality. He turned his head towards her voice and cringed when he saw her, hands on his shoulder and tears glistening in her eyes.

"Jess…? What--?" He slowly reached for her and she stiffened before relaxing into his embrace.

"You scared me, Sam. You were screaming and you wouldn't wake up, and I didn't know what to do." He pulled her in closer and stroked her hair.

"Shhhh. It's OK. I'm fine, everything is going to be OK." She pulled away from him.

"No, it's not! What's wrong? I've never seen anyone have a nightmare like that! What happened?"

"Nothing. It's…nothing. Just some random bad dream. It didn't even start off bad, really, but then it just…I don't know."

"How did it start?"

"Jess…"

"Damn it, Sam! I'm worried about you. You can't go on like this. You need to talk about it.

_No. I can't tell her everything. She'll think I'm crazy, Hell, maybe she already does…_

"It was just weird, really. At first we were at the baseball game, when I caught the foul ball, remember?"

"And?"

"And then it was just, I don't know. Darkness. And then fire." _At least that part is true._

"Your mom died in a fire, didn't she?"

"Yeah, but I don't remember it. There's no reason for me to be dreaming about that." _Except I know how she really died…_

"And it's getting fairly close to the time of year when she died, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Next month."

"Well your subconscious must just be dredging it back up. I think that happens sometimes, when we're worrying about something; bad memories surface."

"You're probably right. It will work itself out."

"I hope so." She rested her head on his chest. "I don't want you to be worried, Sam. Everything is going to be OK." He kissed her forehead, wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, trying desperately to force the images from his mind.

_Everything is going to be OK…_

* * *

_October 20, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

"Get your damn feet off my coffee table." Dean looked up at Cora and grinned sheepishly as he swung his legs back to the floor. She swatted him with her baseball hat and walked over to put one a tape in the VCR.

"Couldn't you get something good? I mean, tapped ball games? How boring is that?"

"When they're taped you can at least fast forward through the boring parts. Frank was nice enough to make these for me, we should at least watch them."

"I don't understand why you don't get cable."

"Ain't no cable out here, kid. Besides, ain't nothing worth watch most of the time anyway." Dean sighed. He was actually happy to be taking a break. The Impala was finally up to his standards and all he needed was an inspection sticker. After that, he'd install the false trunk and start collecting what he needed to return to hunting.

"What game are we watching?"

"Giants at home vs the Rockies. September 23rd."

"We're watching a month-old game?"

"Shut up and go make some popcorn," she said with affection.

"Yes, ma'am," he grumbled with a trace of a grin. She swatted him again as he slouched out to the kitchen.

Dean managed to sit through five innings before he started to fidget, his attention wandering, when he heard Cora chuckle.

"What?"

"Aww, isn't that cute? Some Long Tall Drink of Water caught that foul ball and gave it to his girlfriend." She snorted. "You want to see it again?"

"I don't know. Is she hot?"

"See for yourself." Cora rewound the tape for a few frames and hit play. Dean leaned in, hoping to give his expert opinion of the girl's charms, and froze.

_That's impossible…_

"J.D.? What's wrong?"

"Give me the remote."

"What? Why?"

"Just give it to me!" Puzzled at his outburst, she handed him the remote control and peered at the screen, hoping to see what had caused his reaction. Dean rewound the tape again and paused it, capturing the image he never expected to see: the messy brown hair, broad cheekbones, slightly pointed nose. He couldn't believe it.

"_Sammy…_" He sensed Cora crouch down next to him as she tried to get a closer look.

"What?"

"Sammy. That's Sammy! I know it's him! I…_how_…_?_"

"Your brother?" Cora's face fell. She felt pity for him.

"J.D., your brother's dead. You told me that. It can't be him. You know I wish it was, but--."

"_It's him!_"

"J.D., calm down." He turned his bright green, angry eyes toward her and she flinched. There was so much pain in them. "Look. I'm going by what you told me, but it seems pretty clear. The doctor said--."

"That doctor lied to me before. How do you know he didn't lie to me about this? Huh? I _knew_ there was no way Sam would be in that car with us. Why did I listen to that bastard?" Cora remained silent. She really didn't have an answer for him.

"Call Ed. Tell him I need that paperwork for the Impala now. I'm going to California."

"J.D.--."

"What? Don't tell me I can't go. I'm going, and you can't stop me!"

"I wasn't planning on stopping you. Just…listen for a minute, OK? Please." He turned to glare at her again, but this time he actually seemed to be listening.

"First of all, if--and that's a big if—that is your brother, how are you going to find him? He might not still be at Stanford. And if you do find him, what are you going to tell him?

Just please, be smart about this. Find out as much as you can. I mean, from what you told me, it's possible that kid there is, I don't know, something supernatural? You said there are things that can change their appearance to look like other people, right?" Dean's shoulders slumped as some of the fire went out of him.

_Of course she's right. Some hunter you are_.

"Yeah, I know, but…OK. I need to do some research first."

"Let me help." He snorted.

"Cora, no offense, but you barely even know how to use a computer, much less a search engine."

"I can learn. C'mon, get your jacket. We're going to the library."

An hour later, Dean had found some compelling evidence to prove his theory correct. He had found the Stanford web site, done a search for his brother's name, and found a listing on the Pre-Law Society's page. He stared at the picture that accompanied an article this "Sam Winchester" had written. He was certain it was his brother.

Cora sat next to him, watching as he scrolled through the pages and stopped at the image.

"Are you sure that's him?" He gave her a withering look. "Well, I don't know, it's been awhile since you've seen him and…OK. So that's him. Now what? You still don't know if it might be a doppelganger or something."

"Shapeshifter. And he's not one of those. They usually only hang around to do some damage, and then split. He…he's been around for awhile."

"OK, so now what?"

"I'll get the car ready, load up some basics, and drive out there." He hit print to get a copy of his brother's picture and walked over to the printer to retrieve it. Cora waited for him at the entrance and they left the library together. When they reached her car (she didn't like to take the bike into town, she had said) and climbed in, she turned to him.

"What do you need as far as basics? I know about salt and holy water, but what else?"

"Salt, holy water, consecrated iron, silver, a couple of shotguns if I can get them, and I'll need to make some rock salt shells."

"I can help with the salt, at least, and I know a priest who can bless stuff for you, but the shotguns might take some time. But how are you going to carry this? If a cop stops you, explaining all that could get dicey."

"In our old Impala, we had a false trunk. I should be able to make a new one without too much trouble." He caught the strange look that crossed her face. "What?"

"The Impala you've been working on…when I got it, it had a false trunk. I took it out but I probably still have the parts."

"What do you mean it had a false trunk? That's…oh crap. No. _Nononon no_. The car was wrecked. They told me…damn it!" He slammed his fist against the dashboard. "What do you know about that car? Where exactly was it found? What else was in it besides the false trunk?"

"Nothing. It was completely empty. At least that's what Rog said. I can ask him again, if you want…"

"No. It's just…what else did that doctor lie about?"

* * *

_October 31, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"Sam! Get a move on would you? We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago." Jessica finished fastening her earrings and called out again. "Sam! You coming or what?"

Sam reluctantly answered her call.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes. It'll be fun. And where's your costume?" Sam huffed.

"You know how I feel about Halloween."

"Yeah, I know, but it's just once a year. Live a little."

"That's hardly what Halloween's about, you know." She gave him a playful smack on the arm.

"Come on, Luis is waiting for us. Let's celebrate." Sam groaned and allowed her to lead him out the door.

Across the street, Dean watched as the couple left the apartment and turned right, towards the commercial district. He felt like an idiot, skulking in the shadows, the hood of his jacket pulled up to hide his face, but the last thing he wanted was for Sam to see him. He still hadn't figured out how to approach his brother.

He followed the couple at a safe distance and slipped into the bar after them, tucking himself back in a corner where he couldn't be seen.

When they entered the bar, Sam saw Luis waving them over to a table he had saved. He sat down next to Jessica and reluctantly selected one of the shot glasses while Jessica did the same with much more enthusiasm."

"Time to celebrate, alright? So here's to Sam and his awesome LSAT victory." She raised the glass, slammed the shot, and grinned. Sam started to blush a little. Even now, he hated to be the center of attention.

"All right, all right it's not that big a deal."

"He acts all humble but he scored a 174," explained Jessica with obvious pride in her voice. Luis emptied his glass and turned to Jess.

"Is that good?" He asked, setting his glass back on the table.

"Scary good," said Jess with a grin. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably. Luis slapped him on the back.

"See there you go, you are first-round draft pick. You can go to any law school you want."

"Actually I got an interview here…Monday. If it goes ok I think I got a shot at a full ride next year." Jess leaned in and looked him in the eye.

"Hey. It's going to go great."

"It better."

"Just think how proud your brother would be."

"Yeah…"

"Seriously. I'm proud of you, too, and you're going to knock 'em dead on Monday and you're going to get that full ride. I know it." Sam smiled shyly.

"What would I do without you?" Jess appeared to ponder the question for a moment before grinning at him mischievously.

"Crash and burn." She leaned forward and kissed him.

Dean sat huddled in his corner, drinking a beer and listening to his brother's accomplishments.

_She's right, Sammy, I am proud. That girl is totally out of your league._

He watched the happy couple for a while until Sam excused himself and headed off towards the back of the bar. Dean got up, left a crumbled bill on the table, and walked over to the blonde.

"Hey," he said, ducking his head to the side to keep her from seeing his face. She gave him the once-over with a slightly annoyed expression.

"Hi," she said, flatly.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, I'm taken." He chuckled.

"No, that's not it. I actually wanted to know something about your boyfriend there. See, he looks like a guy I went to high school with, and I was wondering if it was the same guy. What's his name?"

"Sam Winchester."

"Huh. And he's from Kansas?" She gave him a puzzled look.

"You know, he never actually said. I'll have to ask him."

"He has a brother, though, right? Older brother, named Dean?" He caught the look on her face and felt a twist in the pit of his stomach.

"He did, but…I'm sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but Dean died three years ago."

"Oh, uh, I see. Sorry. You know what, don't bother mentioning this to him. I don't want to bring up bad memories. Sorry to bother you, uh, I didn't catch your name?"

"Jessica."

"Thanks, Jessica. I can see you make him happy, so…thanks."

"No problem," she replied, confusion evident in her voice. He quickly made his way to the door and disappeared.

"He thinks I'm dead, or at least that's what he told his girlfriend."

"_I'm sorry, J.D. I know this is hard for you_," Cora's voice was comforting. He wished he had never left what had been his home for the past six months.

"I mean, I can't just drop in on him, now, you know. He'll probably hit me with rock salt or something."

"_Well then, quit stalking your brother and come home. Let him enjoy his life. It sounds like he's doing well, trying to make you proud_."

"Yeah, but…I don't know. Just a few more days, I think. Then I'll come back."

"_OK, but if you get caught, I'll disown ya_." He barked out a dry laugh.

"Yeah, like that will happen. Thanks, Cora. I'll be in touch."

"_You better_."

As they left the bar, Sam caught sight of a black Impala pass by on the street and he stopped to stare after it.

_Utah plates. Nope, not him._

He shrugged and continued walking, with Jessica holding tight to his arm and walking a bit unsteadily.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, you never told me. Where are you from?" Startled, he turned to her.

"What?"

"Where are you from? Originally? What state?"

"Uh, none, really. My family moved around a lot."

"Yes, but you must have been born somewhere." He sighed.

"Kansas. I was born in Lawrence, Kansas. We left when I was less than a year old and I've never been back."  
"Oh."

"What brought that question up?"

"Nothing, I was just curious." She leaned closer to him and wrapped her arm around his. Sam shook his head. What a time for the past to be brought up. Like old ghosts.

He knew there was a reason he hated Halloween.

* * *

_November 2, 2005._

"Jess, those cookies smell great! When are they going to be ready?"

"Not long. You know what would go great with them?"

"What?"

"Ice cream!" Sam groaned.

"Jess, it's late, and I have the interview tomorrow…"

"It won't take long. Besides, I'll have a special treat ready for you when you get back." She gave him a coquettish wink.

"Oh yeah? I guess I better hurry, then." He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

Dean watched his brother emerge from the apartment building and walk towards the commercial district. He followed, keeping to the shadows, until he saw Sam stop and enter a 7-11. He waiting outside until he saw Sam make his purchases and head back home.

_Ice cream, little brother? She has you whipped already…_

Sam stepped into the apartment and walked into the kitchen where he saw a plate of cookies waiting for him on the counter. He put the ice cream in the freezer, grabbed a cookie, and headed toward the bedroom.

"Jess?"

He heard the shower running and sighed. He closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed, a look of contentment on his face.

Suddenly he felt something wet hit his forehead and flinched. A second drop hit and he opened his eyes in annoyance, which quickly morphed into horror when he saw what was on the ceiling directly above him.

"_No!"_

Dean stood outside he brother's apartment, debating for the last time if whether or not he should ring the bell.

"This is stupid," he muttered. He was about to turn and leave when suddenly the street lights started to buzz and flicker.

"What the Hell…?"

He turned back to the apartment in time to hear his brother's anguished _"NO!"_ and see an orange glow erupt from one of the windows.

"_Oh shit!"_

Dean raced up the stairs and slammed into the door, knocking it inward.

"_Sam!"_

"_Jess!"_

Dean raced into the bedroom and found his brother cowering on the bed, his eyes fixed on the inferno above him. He looked up and saw the pretty blonde he had spoken to only a few days ago pinned to the ceiling, surrounded by flames.

"No! NO!"

"Sam! We've got to get out of here!"

"Jess! NO!"

Dean dragged his brother off the bed and out of the apartment as Sam fought him, trying to get back to the fire. After Dean managed to drag him down the steps without either one of them falling, Sam collapsed to his knees and stared in blank horror at the flames shooting out of his bedroom window. Dean kept one hand on his shoulder, holding him upright, but Sam didn't seem to notice.

When the fire trucks and ambulance arrived, Dean finally let go of his brother as Sam was shuffled off to be checked over. Dean waited a few minutes before slipping away and heading back to the Impala. He climbed in, shut the door, and put his hands to his face to brush away the tears.

* * *

_November 6, 2005_

_San Francisco, California_

Sam sat in the corner of the living room of Jessica's parents' house, the stiff white color of the borrowed dress shirt rubbing uncomfortably against his neck.

He barely noticed.

He did notice the looks her family was giving him: sad, accusing, angry.

_You made it out and she didn't. Where were you? Why didn't you protect her?_

Sam felt empty. It was a repeat of that night three years ago, when he learned he would never see his brother again. But somehow, this was much worse. It was his fault. He should have warned her, should have done _something_…

"Sam?" He looked up to see Luis staring down at him with a sympathetic expression on his face.

"How are you holding up?" Sam huffed.

"You shouldn't have pulled me out of there, Luis. You should have left me with her."

"C'mon Sam, I think you need some air. Let's go outside."

He stood and followed Luis and made his way to the door, brushing past Jessica's relatives, past the people who undoubtedly hated him for what he had done, or rather, what he had failed to do: save her.

When the stepped out into the sunlight, Luis turned to Sam and started to speak in a low voice.

"Sam." Luis' tone caused Sam to look at him. "I wasn't the one who pulled you out."

"What?"

"It wasn't me, man. You were already out by the time I got there."

"Then…who?"

"I don't know. I asked around, but no one remembered much of anything. The one guy who remembered said the guy was wearing a hooded jacket and he couldn't see his face. Hey, maybe you have a guardian angel looking after you." Sam gave him a cold look.

"I don't believe that. I don't deserve it."

"Sam, man, don't be like this. You think Jess would have wanted this for you?"

"I failed her."

"No, man, it wasn't your fault. You had no way of knowing the wiring was bad. What could you do?"

"It wasn't…never mind. I'm sorry, I just…I need to get out of here."

* * *

_November 8, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

Sam stood across the street from his old apartment, a bag full of hastily gathered supplies on his back, waiting for the street out front to be clear. He knew that whatever caused that fire was not natural, not an accident, and he was bound and determined to find out what it was. The same thing that had taken his mother had taken his girlfriend, and he was going to find it and destroy it. Nothing else mattered.

When he was sure no one else was around, he started across the street. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he saw a shadow move swiftly away from the site, dash across the street and disappear. Anger swelled within him as he turned and gave chase. Soon he slowed his pace, but kept moving. There was no sign of his quarry, and after several blocks, he came to a church, one door standing open to welcome the faithful and shelter those who needed it. As he looked at the door of the church, he saw a shadow dart inside. Quietly he walked up the steps, ducked inside, and looked around. The church was empty.

Sam saw movement out of the corner of his eye and spun towards it, making contact with something that huffed in surprise. He grappled with it, furious that this thing could pollute a holy place. After a few well placed blows, however, the tide turned and Sam felt himself pushed to the ground. The thing, surprisingly lightweight, pinned his arms and Sam lay panting on the floor, momentarily defenseless. Suddenly, the thing shifted and a shaft of moonlight illuminated its features. Sam froze, his mind uncomprehending of what he was seeing. He couldn't believe it. A moment later, a familiar voice, one he thought he would never hear again, broke the silence.

"_Easy, tiger."_

Sam struggled with his disbelief, his mind reeling, until he was finally able to choke out a single word:

"_Dean?"_


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to all who left reviews. They are appreciated.

So here's another chapter. Please let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_Chapter 5_

_November 8, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

"_Dean?"_

"Hey, Sammy." A second later, Dean staggered backward as Sam gave him a hard shove and started to scoot away from him in panic. Dean quickly regained his balance and looked over at his brother just as Sam threw a handful of salt at him, hitting him in the chest. Sam's expression became even more panicked as he reached for his satchel and rifled through it before bringing out a plastic water bottle.

"Sam--." A stream of water hit Dean in the face. _Now this is annoying._ "Sam, it's me-- WHOA!" He dodged as Sam came at him with a knife. Dean knocked it out of his hand and grabbed it before it hit the floor.

"Silver, huh?" He held left hand out, palm up, and pressed the flat of the blade against his palm. "See? No burns. Not a shapeshifter. Or a ghost or demon, as you already figured out," he said, wiping the water from his face and shaking the rest of the salt off of his jacket. Sam continued to stare at him in horror.

"What _are_ you?"

"Your brother, moron." Sam shook his head.

"No, my brother is dead." Dean sighed.

"Yeah, that's the rumor, but trust me, it's exaggerated. What do I need to do to prove it to you?" Sam clenched his jaws and refused to answer. Dean searched his brother's face for some hint on how to reach him, his eyes flitting over his brother's frame before his caught sight of the amulet around Sam's neck. _Huh._

"That necklace: I had one just like it. You gave it to me for Christmas one year. Dad didn't make it back from a hunt and I had to improvise to get your presents." He chuckled dryly at the memory. "Got you chick stuff by accident. And you gave me the necklace, even though you were going to give it to Dad. I guess it was 'cause you were mad at him. That was the year you found out what he really did for a living, and you were mad about being lied to." He met Sam's eyes and saw they were bright with unshed tears.

"No, not because I was mad at Dad. You…you just deserved it more." He drew in a shuddering breath. "Dean, is that really you?"

"Yeah. C'mon, man, don't get all chick-flick on me." Suddenly Sam's expression changed. _Uh oh, here it comes._

"Where in the _Hell_ have you been?! _Three_ years, Dean! Three years I thought you were dead, and you--."

"Thought you were dead, too." Sam froze for a few seconds and then blinked in surprise.

"What?"

"Looks like we both have some 'splainin' to do. You first." Sam reached back and pulled the necklace up over his head before handing it to Dean.

"That's yours, actually. Three years ago, Dad paid me a visit. He gave me that, said you would have wanted me to have it, and left. I tried to ask him what happened, and he…he told me to go back to my life, that I should get to have normal." Dean stared at him, dumbfounded. "I called Pastor Jim, and he said you had disappeared. He and Dad and Caleb and Joshua had searched, but that necklace was all they found."

"And you accepted that," Dean asked quietly, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"_No_. I wanted to go look for you, but Pastor Jim said it was no use. They had looked everywhere for you, man. Not even Dad could find you."

"Then what?"

"He told me to stay in school. Try and be happy because that's what you would have wanted. I remembered you…told me to make you proud. The day I left for Stanford, that's what you told me."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"So what about you? You said you thought—?"

"You were dead. Yeah. Dad too." He sighed. This was not going to be easy. "That's what they told me when I woke up in the hospital. They said I'd been in a car accident, and you and Dad were in the car too, but…you two didn't make it. I said there was no way you were with us, but they told me I had 'short term memory loss' and just didn't remember getting you from college. After that, I just…"

"Yeah. But Dean, if you were in a hospital, Dad should have been able to find you…" All of a sudden the walls that Dean had built up his whole life, and had only recently been breached, fell back into place. The mantra of 'protect Sammy' that Dean had lived ever since he was a child was back in full force. He couldn't tell Sam what had happened to him.

"I don't know, man. There must have been some reason."

"How long were you there?"  
"I got out six months ago." Sam's eyes widened in surprise before his expression turned thoughtful.

"Well that would explain…" he said softly, almost to himself.

"Why I didn't come around sooner? Hell, Sammy, it was pure luck I found out you were alive."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you on TV. Baseball game. You caught a foul ball, and—." _Aw crap._

"I gave it to Jessica," Sam said, his voice trembling. Dean glanced away, allowing his brother some privacy in his grief. After a few minutes of silence, Sam raised his head.

"So how long have you been here?"

"I got here the day before Halloween. I wanted to get a better look, see for myself, make sure…"

"Yeah. So you know about…wait a minute." Sam suddenly remembered how they got there. "What were you doing at my apartment?"

"Tonight? I was checking out the cause of the fire. I'm guessing you were there for the same reason."

"Yeah, but how did you know it wasn't--?"

"Faulty wiring?" Dean couldn't meet his brother's eyes. They were so full of pain.

"I saw it happen. That night I was outside your apartment, getting ready to ring the bell when I heard you yell and I saw the flames."

"It was you."

"What?"

"You pulled me out. I didn't even realize it at the time but…"

"Yeah, that was me. I ran in, saw you and…I got you out." Sam stared at his brother, a score of emotions roiling beneath the surface. Finally he managed to respond.

"Thanks, Dean." Dean merely nodded. "So then you know it was…like Mom."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence, both trying to come to terms with their current situation in their own way. Finally Dean spoke.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"We have to find out what did this, and we have to find Dad."

"You sure about this, Sammy? Going back to hunting, I mean?"

Sam met his eyes.

"Yeah. We've got work to do."

* * *

_November 9, 2005_

_Blackwater Ridge, Lost Creek, Colorado_

_God, how he hated Wendigos_.

When he had first read about the disappearing hikers he suspected it was bad. After reviewing the records of the other disappearances, and speaking to the lone survivor from the last string of attacks, he had a fair idea of what he was dealing with, but he had to make sure. Armed with his usual portable arsenal, including a flare gun and a few improvised incendiary devices, he had cautiously made his way out to the site. He had set out the protective ring around his campsite and waited until the opportunity had presented itself, and he had sent the loathsome creature to Hell in a rain of fire and phosphorus. After making his way back to civilization, sore, slightly battered, and weary, he vowed never to set foot in Colorado again; too many bad memories and too much pain. He probably shouldn't have come back in the first place. He had barely healed from his encounter with that bitch Constance Welch in Jericho. It had given him no pleasure to salt and burn her bones, buried out behind her old house, and even less when he had to drive her home for the last time. Another job, another evil thing eliminated, another reminder of what he had lost. Loss, after all, was all he had. It drove him to do his job, and the job was now his only concern.

On his way back north, he stopped at a small town that he had frequented for the past three years, not because of its' charms, but because it boasted a decent newsstand. He purchased a selection of newspapers, local and national, and sat down in one of the back booths to look through them, searching for evidence that no law enforcement officer would recognize or understand.

On one of the last pages of the latest issue of the _San Francisco Chronicle_, a small headline brought a shock, as if his veins had been filled with ice water. The words _mysterious fire_ and _Stanford students_ brought his casual reading to a halt, and the name of the survivor listed in the article caused him to freeze in horror.

_No. No, it can't be._

Quickly he scanned back through and found things that chilled his heart: electrical storms, crop failures, animal deaths, all in the area around the beginning of November. Right before the fire, just as it had happened 22 years ago in Lawrence, Kansas.

The pile of newspapers was abandoned as he dashed out to his truck and tore out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

He had to get to California.

* * *

_November 10, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

When he heard the loud knock on his front door, Luis rushed to open it, anxious of what he might find, but needing to know. Instead of the expected police officer, he saw a tall dark-haired man, his scruffy beard shot through with grey and dark circles under his hazel eyes. He looked vaguely familiar.

"Uh, can I help you?" Luis asked, uncharacteristically intimidated by this man's presence.

"I'm looking for Sam Winchester. I heard he was staying here." The man's voice was gravelly, tired, but held an edge that made Luis extremely nervous.

"He's not here." Luis searched his mind, trying to remember where he had seen this guy before.

"Then I'll wait." Suddenly it hit him.

"Wait a minute. I know you. You're Sam's…dad." The man stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Damn it. Look, man, I'm sorry, but I don't know where he is. He went out a couple of nights ago, and when he was gone for a long time I went out to look for him. He must have come back while I was out 'cause when I got back his stuff was gone. I checked at school the next day and he had withdrawn. I don't know what to do. I mean, I know this hit him hard but…"

"The fire."

"Yeah. I guess you heard and that's why you're here. But I can't help, I'm sorry. I really have no idea where he is."

"Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything that happened after the fire?"

"No, but…actually, there is something. It might not be important, but it's kind of weird."

"What happened?"

"Well, he was in the apartment when the fire started, but someone pulled him out. He thought it was me, but it wasn't. I have no idea who the guy was. Sam didn't seem to know either."

"What did he look like?"

"I didn't see him, and no one who was there got a good look at him." The man stood silently, apparently thinking through the information.

"Did he mention anywhere at all he might be going? Or thinking about going?"

"No, he didn't. I checked his local hangouts, but no one has seen him. It's like he vanished off the face of the Earth!" The man stared at him for a moment before turning and walking away without another word.

"Hey!" He turned and looked over his shoulder.

"Man, if you do find him, please…please tell him to call me, alright?" The man gave him a brief nod and walked off, disappearing around a corner. With a disgusted sigh, Luis dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a number on his speed dial. When he got the voice mail for the umpteenth time, he left a message:

"Sam, where the _Hell_ are you?"

* * *

_November 10, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

Sam had always been an observant person. He saw things others didn't in their haste to get by, and he was fairly good at reading people, knowing if they were being honest.

His brother was keeping something from him.

It had taken him some effort to get over the shock of seeing Dean again after all that time. It was even more of a shock when he realized how much his brother had changed. Dean was quieter, not as obnoxious about his opinions on music, cars, or women (even though he still voiced them, it was not done with his usual vigor). He didn't play the music quite so loud, and he rarely sang along anymore. There were other things, too. He didn't _move_ like Dean anymore. Sam had wrestled with his brother ever since he was old enough, and he knew Dean's moves as well as his own. Back in the church, it had felt like sparing with a complete stranger. He brother was faster, more agile, lighter on his feet.

Lighter, period.

At first, Sam had attributed it to Dean's (supposedly) extended stay in the hospital. Being sick for that long was bound to cause weight loss, and it felt like he should have been skin and bones. The problem was that his basic body shape hadn't changed, at least as far as Sam could tell under the layers Dean wore.

It was weird.

The sound of the Impala's horn brought him out of his daze and he opened his eyes to see that they had stopped in front of a chain-link gate surrounding a garage. Dean honked the horn and a figure in mechanic's coveralls emerged, paused, and dashed to open the gate. After Dean pulled the Impala into an empty space, he killed the engine and turned to Sam with a grin.

"Home, sweet home, at least until we get back out on the road again." He got out of the car and was immediately greeted by the person in the coveralls. With a blink of surprise, Sam realized it was a woman. With ever greater surprise, he saw her pull Dean into a tight embrace.

"I'm so glad to see you, J.D. It's been quiet around here without ya." Sam climbed out of the car and the woman turned to him.

"This must be Sam." He nodded, shyly, realizing he was witnessing a part of his brother's new life that he had never expected. She walked over to him and gave him a hug as well.

"I'm Cora, and any family of J.D.'s is family of mine. C'mon, let's go to the house and get you settled in." She started off towards a cement-block building behind the garage, and Sam turned to Dean to give him a look.

"Chill, dude, she's just a friend. She helped me out a lot when…I got out of the hospital." Sam nodded and followed his brother to the house.

By the time they reached the house, Cora was already in the kitchen.

"I'll bet you boys are hungry. I know that was a Hell of a long drive. 'sides, J.D. is always hungry, ain't ya?"

"I guess some things never change," muttered Sam. Cora crowed with laughter.

"I think I'm gonna like your brother, J.D. Now, what'll it be, Sam?"

"Whatever De—uh, J.D.'s having," he said with a pointed stare a Dean. _You are so explaining this "J.D." thing later._ Dean shrugged. Cora set to work, frying hamburgers and slicing onions. Dean sat at the counter and watched, a slight smile on his face.

"So, are you gonna take your brother up to the mesa tonight? I'm sure he wants to see--." Dean cut her off with a loud cough. She turned to look at him and her eyes widened. Sam could see the look of discomfort on his face, and after a minute, Cora seemed to understand what it meant.

"Maybe some other time then. I guess you just want to rest tonight."

_Fat chance of that_. Sam's nightmares had gotten worse after the fire. He's barely had any sleep since it had happened.

"Sounds good to me," said Sam without enthusiasm. He looked up to see Cora staring at him, a puzzled expression on her face. She turned to Dean.

"J.D., could I talk to you after lunch? I have something out in the yard that needs to be looked at."

"No problem," he said, shifting uneasily. Cora turned back to the stove and finished fixing the meal. When everything was ready, she brought the plates over to the table.

"Tuck in," she said, and bit into her burger. Sam finished his meal in silence.

* * *

"You didn't tell him, did you?" Cora's face was flushed with anger. "Why are you keeping this from him?" They were standing outside, a hundred yards from the house to keep the conversation away from Sam.

"I just couldn't."

"Why not? I thought you'd gotten over it. I thought we had made it clear, you're not a fr--."

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

"I…all my life I've been looking out for him, protecting him. I don't want him to know about this. Think how it would make him feel?"

"Are you worried about his feelings, or yours?" Dean flinched. Cora was not usually that blunt.

"His. He'll feel guilty. He always does, even though he couldn't have done anything about it. He's got enough to worry about. His girlfriend just died, for pity's sake. He doesn't need this to worry about as well." Cora huffed in disgust.

"Keeping secrets only hurts more further down the line. Remember that."

"Yeah, I know. I will tell him. Just…not now."

"Fine."  
"Look, I should go check on the Impala. Something didn't quite feel right on the way back. Do you mind…?"

"I'll keep an eye on him. I understand why you're doing this, J.D., but I also know what Sam's feeling. He's hurt, angry, frustrated, and basically terrified. He's gonna need you to be there for him, and to be honest. OK?"

"OK. Thanks, Cora."

"Yeah, yeah, go fix your baby. I think I have a new project for you when you're done. I got in a new fixer-upper that just need the right touch. Now scoot." Dean gave her a thankful grin and headed for the garage. She turned back to the house. When she walked into the kitchen, everything was clean, and the dishes were stacked neatly on the sink to dry. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, staring off into space.

"Why thank you, Sam. You didn't have to do that, but I do appreciate it."

"No problem," he muttered. She sat down across from him and gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You look worn out, kiddo. Why don't you go to bed?"

"That's OK. I'm fine."

"Alright. Anything else I can do for you?" Sam gazed at her for a minute with wounded eyes before replying in a low voice.

"Yes. You can tell me what my brother is hiding from me."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing, yada yada

Thanks to all who reviewed. As always, please let me know what you think.

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_Chapter 6_

_November 10, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

"You can tell me what my brother is hiding from me." Sam gazed at Cora with a serious yet pleading expression. He hoped she would be able to give him just a little bit of an idea what was going on with Dean. Her response surprised him.

"No."

"What?"

"What part of 'no' did you not understand? There's no way in Hell I'm going to get stuck in the middle of this one." Sam snorted in annoyance.

"I think you already are."

"No, I'm not. Yes, your brother is hiding something from you, and if you know your brother as well as you think, then you know he has a reason. But he will tell you, on his own terms. Give him that chance." Sam huffed.

"Cora, you don't know anything about me and my brother."

"Actually, I know quite a bit. I know how you grew up, I know why you grew up that way, and I know about the 'family business'." Sam stared at her in shock.

"How…?"

"J.D. told me. He didn't want to, trust me, but it just happened to work out that way. So I do know about you and your brother. I know he basically raised you, that he was terrified for you when you left, and I know how he felt when he believed you and your father were gone. I also know how desperate he was to find you when he found out that you weren't dead. For the first time since I met him, he had hope."

"I--."

"And I know your life has been knocked ass-over-teakettle these past few days. You're confused, you're angry, you're hurting, and you're looking to strike out at someone, _anyone_, in order to stop that pain. But Sam, please, don't take that out on your brother. He's hurting, too. He wants to protect you, and he cares about that more than himself. So please, cut him a break."

"I don't believe he told you all of that."

"He didn't. Most of it, yeah, but not all. The rest I sensed. One of my quirks." She gave him a half-smile. Sam reluctantly gave her one in return.

"I guess he trusts you, and you think I should, too."

"I do, but I know you won't, at least not until I earn it. Look, Sam, just give it some time. You two _both_ need some time. OK?"

Sam struggled with his natural inclination to question, to argue, to demand what he needed to know to be safe. Was it really worth it, this time to have all the answers immediately? Or would better planning finally pay off? Sam let the debate continue in his mind for several long, silent moments. Finally he met her gaze.

"OK."

* * *

_November 10, 2005_

_Palo Alto, California_

He had been searching for a lead on Sam for almost 2 days and found nothing, even though he had systematically checked every hospital, police station, and campus-affiliated building. The girl at the registrar's office _had_ remembered Sam when John showed her the picture, but she was unable to provide him with any more information. Sam had withdrawn from the university completely, without even a forwarding address, much to her apparent bewilderment. After a day's worth of effort on that fruitless search, John had eventually expanded his search to all businesses in the surrounding area, hoping at least _someone_ had seen his son. He was ready to move on, but at this point he had no idea in which direction to start his search. The weather patterns that had appeared before the fire had not reappeared anywhere else, and no other sign of the entity that John feared was stalking Sam had presented itself.

He sat in the back booth of a small hole-in-the-wall eating establishment, Sam's picture on the table in front of him, considering his options. A too-cheery waitress interrupted his thoughts.

"What can I get for you?" she asked in a loud, high pitched voice that grated on John's nerves.

"Just coffee. Black."

"You got it." She glanced down at the table and paused, a curious expression on her face. "Huh." Her tone caught John's attention.

"What?"

"Why do you have that guy's picture?"

"I'm looking for him. Why?"

"Are you a cop or something?" John gritted his teeth. _Damn nosy civilians._

"PI. He's missing, and the cops dismissed the search. Kid's father is looking for him."

"I saw him. A couple of days ago, I guess? But yeah, that's the guy." John gave her a hard look.

"Where?"

"Oh, out by one of the campus buildings…Harold. It's what they call the building next to the food places. I think it's the registrar's office."

"Where was he headed?"

"Not sure, really. He ran into me when he was leaving the building, almost knocked me over. I remember because he apologized a _lot_. It was kind of cute." She giggled at the memory. It took a monumental effort of John's part not to yell at her.

"Do you remember anything else? Maybe which direction he went? Bus stop, anything like that?"

"Oh…that car. I do remember. My uncle had one just like it, that's why I noticed. I thought it was funny to see a car like that around here, though."

"What kind of car was it?" John asked slowly, hoping to clue this girl in on how close he was to losing his patience.

"Chevy Impala. From the 60's…'65? '67? Something like that. 'Big, black, mean looking and noisy', that's how my uncle always described his." John stared at her in shock for a brief moment before recovering his wits.

"Was he driving or was he a passenger?"

"Passenger. I didn't see the driver," she added, "but he was playing music pretty loud, I do remember that. Metal, maybe? Something with a lot of loud guitar.

_No…no way, that's impossible. But what if…? Damn it, Sam, I taught you better than that!_

"Did you happen to see the license plate?"

"Um…I don't remember the number but the plate wasn't a California plate. Let me think…Utah. That's it. It had that rock arch thing on it."

"Utah…" _And now I think I know exactly where to start looking._

"Yep. Never been, but I heard it's pretty. Parts of it, anyway." John slid out of the booth, and the girl moved a couple of steps away as she gave him a nervous look.

"Do…do you still want coffee?" Without a backwards glance, John walked out of the diner.

* * *

_November 12, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah._

"_I'm rolling thunder, pouring rain  
I'm coming on like a hurricane  
My lightning's flashing across the sky  
You're only young but you're gonna die."_

Dean sang along to the music blaring from the garage's ancient boombox, feeling better than he had in a long time. He had his brother back, they were heading out on a hunt and to check up on a lead on his Dad tomorrow (after he finished the final touches on the Impala's weapon storage area), and Sam seemed to have eased off his case a bit. He was no longer staring at Dean with those wounded, puppy-dog eyes, but seemed to have accepted, at least for the moment, that Dean would eventually tell him what he wanted to know. Dean suspected he had Cora to thank, but she had waved him off when he had asked about it. He also had her to thank for his much needed day of quiet yesterday. She and Sam had gone into town and when they returned Sam had a new (well, new to him) laptop computer. After protesting to Cora (who declared with a laugh that she had already taken it out of his paycheck, not to worry), he had teased Sam about getting his "geek" on again, and Sam had given the first smile (or as close to it as could be expected) he had seen from him since they had been reunited. The tightness that had surrounded Dean's chest from the past few days had loosened a little, and he thought it was a good sign that things might be getting back to the Winchester version of normal.

After tightening the last bolt, he pulled himself out from under the 1969 Chevelle he had been working on: the fixer-upper Cora had procured while he away. It still needed a lot of TLC on the outside, but it was running now, a vast improvement. He climbed into the driver's seat and was about to start her up when suddenly all of his senses hit three-alarm mode. He froze, every muscle in his body tense, the hairs stiffening on the back of his neck as an unpleasantly familiar scent assaulted him, causing a painful twist in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he flashed back to a memory from over six months ago, and before he realized it he was on the move, carefully and silently making his way out of the garage, around the back of the building, and out of sight.

* * *

Cora slammed her ledger book shut and sighed.

"God, I hate paperwork." She turned to Sam, who was sitting in the battered old recliner, tapping away on his laptop. He had gone into town again with her that morning to get internet access and download as much info as he could while she took care of her own errands. Now he was working his way through the information he had collected, composing a list of notes on a legal pad she had given him.

"Any more luck?" He looked up at her with a slightly glazed expression in his eyes. He reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose before answering.

"Not any more than I had yesterday, really, as far as finding Dad. Dean seems to think we should keep hunting for other stuff and maybe Dad will show up at the same place, if we're lucky." He huffed at the thought. "I don't think we're that lucky." Cora gave him a sympathetic smile and stood up, extending her arms over her head and stretching her back. She turned to look out the window and frowned.

"Huh. Looks like someone is lost." Sam followed her gaze and saw a man in a dark blue suit jacket climbing out of a late model sedan. The man looked around for a moment and then started walking towards the office.

"I better go see what he needs. Be right back." She opened the door and stepped out into the yard. As Sam watched her walk towards the man, the pain behind his eyes increased. Suddenly everything went white. He scrunched his eyes against the agonizing pain as he sunk lower into the chair, and was soon assaulted by a myriad of images, all of his brother: in a white room, screaming in pain as his body doubled over; running through a forest, terror in his eyes; standing at the top of a canyon, backing towards the rim as a strange buzzing sounded in his ears. Finally, the images steadied into a single scene and he saw his brother, dressed in dusty mechanics coveralls, standing out in the yard. An unseen assailant was pointing a gun in his face, and with the sound of a gunshot, Sam's vision returned to normal.

"Dean." He jumped up and ran to the garage bay as he told himself it was nothing: Dean would be there, working on the car and singing off key to AC/DC. When he reached the garage, however, he could see it was empty. Dean was gone.

* * *

Cora knew the guy was bad news as soon as stepped out the door; the feeling of wrongness billowed forth from him in waves. She was ready to make a silent and hasty retreat when he turned to her and smiled at her, reached into his jacket and withdrew a wallet which he flipped open.

"FBI, ma'am. Special Agent Hawkins. I'm looking for someone." He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a photograph which he handed to her. She managed not to react when looked at the photo and saw a familiar face staring back at her.

"Sorry, Mr. Hawkins. I haven't seen him. What's he done?" She was waiting to gauge the depth of the lie she knew would be coming. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam bolt out of the office and stop at the door. The guy showed his badge to Sam as well and he took the picture from Cora, holding it up for Sam to see.

"How about you, kid? Have you seen this man?" Sam stared at the picture and gulped before shaking his head. Cora noticed how freaked he looked. _What the Hell?_

"About six months ago, he escaped from a prison for the criminally insane. He killed six people before he was caught. He claimed they were monsters and had to be killed, which he did in a horrific fashion. He's extremely dangerous and delusional, and we think he might have headed this way after his escape." Cora saw Sam's expression and flinched. The kid was terrified, and with a sinking feeling she thought she might know the source of his fear. _Damn it._

"We haven't seen him," Cora stated, loudly. "But we'll be sure to let you know if we do. Now, if you don't mind, I need to get back to work." Suddenly a dark blur caught her attention as it dashed from behind one of the cars and struck the agent, knocking him to the ground. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized what it was. She saw J.D. jump to his feet after his momentum carried him past the fallen agent and rush towards him again with surprising speed. The two grappled with each other, exchanging furious blows, before the agent managed to break away and draw his gun, pointing it directly in J.D.'s face. She heard Sam scream "No!" and everything stopped. The two men stared at each other, J.D.'s face twisting in fury as the agent smiled.

"Hello, freak." Cora saw J.D. flinch as his gazed flickered between her, Sam, and the agent. "I guess you made it out after all."

"Yeah," breathed J.D. "Lucky me." The agent chuckled humorlessly, reached into his coat with his left hand and drew out another gun which he pointed at Sam and Cora.

"I see you managed to find some friends. Unlucky them."

"Leave them out of this. I'll go with you. Just let them go."

"Sorry. Witnesses. Can't have that. And I don't want you to go with me. I want you dead." J.D.'s eyes widened in surprise but he remained silent.

"You shouldn't exist. You're an abomination, a monster created by a bunch of misguided fools. They paid the price for their guile, but now it's your turn."

"You son of a bitch," growled J.D. Cora saw the agent's finger twitch on the trigger and she squeezed her eyes shut just as the sound of a gunshot tore through the silence.

* * *

_November 12, 2005_

_Cedar City, Utah_

Frank Bascombe looked up when the front door buzzed and saw a stranger. He shifted uneasily on his stool and slowly reached for the gun under the counter.

"Help ya?" he asked, keeping a close eye on the dark haired, bearded man as he stepped up to the counter.

"I hear you're the man to ask about classic cars. I'm looking for a 1967 Chevy Impala, the 4 door hard top model, black if possible. Would you happen to know of anyone in the area has one they would want to sell?"

"Not around here, sorry. 'bout three years ago I towed one like that in, but I sold it to a buddy of mine. Lives 'bout an hour away, over by the Nevada border. No idea if the car got sold off or not."

"Towed it in? So it wasn't in running condition?"

"Nah. Ran fine, far as I know. It was abandoned and the property owners called me to come get it. Looked like it was in good shape, though. No idea why someone would just leave it behind." He chuckled. "Maybe it was haunted or somethin'." His laughter died in his throat when he saw the stranger's expression.

"I'm really interested in finding this car. Could you tell me how to get in touch with this buddy of yours?"

"Uh, yeah, give me a minute. I think I have a business card 'round here somewhere." He pulled open a drawer and pawed through the contents before extracting plain business card from the collected detritus.

"Here you go. Want me to call and see if it's still around?"

"I was headed up that way anyway. Thanks for your help." He took the card and left, and Frank felt a great sense of relief. The dude was scary. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him and he shuddered before picking up the phone and frantically placing a call.

* * *

_November 12, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

Sam stood frozen in horror as the echoes of the gunshot faded. He turned his eyes toward his brother and saw the Dean was standing stock still, fists clenched, as he watched the agent sink to his knees and fall face first in the dust. Sam blinked.

"Dean?"

His brother didn't seem to hear him. His attention was completely focused on a spot across the yard, by the gate. Sam turned and saw a middle aged man, gun in hand, step out from behind one of the cars. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie, his sunglasses perched on a slightly crooked nose. Sam turned back to Dean, who was still staring at the man as he walked over to the sprawled form of the agent. The man shook his head before looking up and meeting Dean's dark gaze.

"Hello, Dean. Long time no see. Let me say that I'm very happy to see you alive." Sam looked at his brother's face and froze. The expression in his brilliant green eyes was completely feral.

"Wish I could say the same, _Doc_."

* * *

A/N:Lyrics are from "Hell's Bells", by AC/DC


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry it's taken so long to update. I've been really busy.

Thanks to all who have reviewed. It's always appreciated.

* * *

**A Different Kind of Hell**

_Chapter 7_

_November 12, 2005_

_Southwestern Utah_

"_Wish I could say the same, _Doc_."_

Pure hatred surged through Dean as he glared at the man whom he had never expected (nor wanted) to see again.

"You might want to re-think that attitude a bit, Dean. Especially since I just saved your life. Again." Dean flinched as he remembered the last time he had seen the Doc, sending him away from the Facility where he would have no doubt been exterminated by the people who had destroyed the place and (almost) everyone inside. After a brief moment of silence, he recovered enough to growl out a question.

"What the Hell are you doing here?" His gaze flicked over to Cora and Sam. Both of them were frozen in place, staring at the dead man before turning their eyes towards him. Their horror-filled expressions causing a twist of fear in his stomach, worse than he had felt when the gun was aimed at his head. Everything was ruined now, he was sure of it. Cora would never trust him, and his brother was terrified of him. He was going to lose his family again.

The Doc lowered his voice. "We need to talk. And take care of this little problem," he said, indicating the body at Dean's feet.

"I'm not helping you."

"Fine, but we still need to talk. Without witnesses." He shot a pointed look towards Cora and Sam before turning and walking back to the trunk of the sedan. Dean turned toward them, wondering what Doc would say that could makes things any worse. His brother had already heard him called a freak and a monster. How much worse could it get?

"Sam, Cora, I need you to go back inside for awhile. I need to talk to…" he waved his hand in the general direction of the doctor. Sam's expression shifted from terrified to surprised, and then that mulish look Dean had seen so many times before made an appearance. Before Sam could start his tirade, Cora put a hand on Sam's arm in an effort to calm him and looked up at Dean.

"You'll be OK?"

"I--."

"No! No it's not OK!" Sam broke in. "You just…he just…"

"Sammy, please. Please just go inside, I'll explain later. I promise you." Sam's jaw snapped shut in surprise at his brother's plea. "Cora…" She walked up to Dean and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly before letting go and stepping back.

"It's OK, J.D. Do what you need to do. C'mon, Sam." She led his brother back to the office. Sam gave him one last look before disappearing inside, and Dean turned back to the scene in the yard. The Doc had already returned from his trip to the car and he was rolling out a piece of black plastic next to the body. He looked up at Dean for a moment before unceremoniously rolling the dead man onto the plastic, which Dean now realized was a body bag. The Doc arranged the body in the bag before zipping it up and dragging in to the back of the car. Dean followed at a safe distance, feeling nauseous as he witnessed the detached indifference with which the Doc handled the dead man. After heaving the bag into the trunk, he brought out a plastic bottle and walked over to the spot where the man had fallen. He poured the contents over the bloodstain left behind and scraped some dirt over it with his shoe before return to the trunk, tossing the empty bottle inside and slamming the lid.

"There. That little bit of unpleasantness is finished."

"Unpleasantness? What the f--?"

"But it's done. Now, we need to talk. As I said, I am quite happy you made it out, although I am curious as to why you haven't returned to hunting."

"How the Hell did _you_ make it out?"

"I convinced them I was their inside man. I found the culprit, whom they apparently had never met in person before everything went down and dealt with him. I've been leading them astray ever since, but they finally got lucky."

"So you just let all of those people die?"

"I didn't get enough warning to get everyone out in time, I'm sorry to say. It was truly unfortunate. Now, about the hunting..." The man's callous attitude sickened Dean. It took him several moments to respond.

"Sorry, but I've been a little busy," Dean said, his anger readily apparent in his voice.

"You tracked down your brother. Yes, I saw. Made friend, got a job, found your old car and fixed it up; an attempt at having a normal little life. How disappointing."

"What--?"

"Basically you made yourself an easy target. If one member of a delusional homegrown terrorist group can find you, imagine how easy it would be for something that poses a real threat to do so?" Dean could barely contain his fury.

"You…look, you son-of-a-bitch, you told me my brother was dead! Exactly why should I listen to anything you say or do anything you want me to?" The Doc remained unperturbed at his outburst and continued in his normal mild tone.

"Because it's too important. Yes, I told you your family was gone, but that was for your safety, and theirs. Do you have any idea what those people would have done if they knew about your family? They would have been targets. I kept them safe."

"So I'm supposed to thank you? Go to Hell. And nothing is more important to me than my family; not your little crusade, not hunting, not a damn thing. None of it is worth what you put me through."

"Of course it is. The good of many outweighs the good of one. Too many lives are at stake for you to give up what you are meant to be doing."

"Come on, I don't believe in that destiny crap."

"Not destiny: design. You were raised to be a hunter, and I gave you the abilities to be the best."

"Yeah, you buddy there didn't seem to share that opinion. I'm a freak, a monster, right? In the rare chance I come across any other hunters out there, they'll be gunning for me, too."

"You can deal with it. What matters more is you get out there and use what you've been given."

"Why? What's got your panties in such a twist? There's always been evil out there."

"Yes, but it's going to get worse."

"Yeah, says who?"

"There are signs, portents, patterns I've seen and read about."

"About what, exactly? You're not making any damn sense." Dean wanted to break the calm the man seemed to hold with ease, but the Doc's mild expression never changed.

"What do you know about demons?" Dean was caught off guard by the question and it took him a minute to come up with a snide response.

"I've seen The Exorcist quite a few times. Never gets any funnier, though." When the Doc failed to give the intended reaction, he sighed and continued. "Holy water slows 'em down. They can cross iron or salt rings. The only way to get rid of them is exorcism."

"Well, that's mostly right. Demons don't belong on Earth, and it's extremely difficult for them to break out of Hell, at least the lower demons. When more of them start showing up, something terrible is going to happen. There are signs: weather patterns, strange deaths, all of which indicate demonic presence. These are showing up much more frequently. The most recent occurrence was in Palo Alto, ten days ago." Dean felt the blood drain from his face.

"But that's…"

"Yes. So you see, you have a very good reason to get back to work." The Doc reached into his coat and withdrew a leather wallet which he held out to Dean. He took it and looked inside.

"What the--?" There were six sets of IDs and credit cards.

"All of those have a full back up paper trail which can't be traced back to you or me, and you won't have to worry about being reported for fraud. That should keep the law off your tail if nothing else." Dean felt a surge of anger at this man's audacity.

"I don't want any of your help." The Doc sighed.

"Still hard headed, I see. Consider it as restitution, if that helps."

"It doesn't. _Nothing_ could make up for what you did!"

"Probably not, but it will have to do for now. You'll see the advantage in the long run."

"So now what? I don't know much about fighting demons, and something tells me all your little 'enhancements' aren't going to be worth much against them. I don't see the advantage here, Doc."

"For the 'enhancements' you are aware of, there are a few, but as for the rest…"

"Wait, what rest? What did you--?"

"I need to be going now, before someone gets suspicious. You'll figure it out eventually."

With a cryptic smile, the Doc climbed into the sedan and backed in out onto the road, leaving Dean behind in a cloud of dust.

_Could this day get any freakin' worse?_

Still reeling from the bomb the Doc had dropped on him, Dean made his way back to the office.

* * *

Sam watched his brother walk slowly towards the building with his head down and his expression unreadable. He rushed to the door to meet him, hoping somehow that Dean would, like when they were kids, be able to help him make some sense of the weirdness that had happened around them. The now dead man's words still echoed in his mind.

_Freak…monster…abomindation…_

He could not reconcile those words with the brother he knew, even with the doubt that he had been mulling over since they had been reunited. There had to be some explanation, and he was desperately hoping that he would get one.

When Dean reached the door to the office, he looked up at Sam, barely meeting his eyes.

"Sammy, go get in the car. We need to talk, and I need to get away from here for a little while." Sam nodded silently, searching Dean's expression for some clue, some reassurance, but there was none. He would have to wait for Dean to reveal everything.

Dean turned to Cora. "I'm sorry…"

She gave him a weak smile. "It's not your fault, J.D. Do what you need to do for your brother. I'll…hold down the fort until you get back." Dean nodded and walked to the car, and Sam followed.

* * *

After they left, Cora sank down into the recliner and put her face in hands.

_Damn it. He doesn't deserve this. Why can't the poor kid catch a break?_

The strident ring of the office phone pulled her from her daze and she got up to answer it.

"_Cora? It's Frank. Frank Bascombe_." Cora felt a wash of relief; something normal to take her mind off what had just happened.

"Hey Frank, how are you? How are Stella and Rog doing?"

"_Fine. Listen, Cora, you remember that Iimpala I sold you, about three years ago?_"

"Yeah…"

"_Do you still have it?_"

"No I gave it to my cousin. Why do you ask?"

"_Some guy came by here looking for a car like that. I told him about it and he's headed up there to look for it._"

"Well he's out of luck. J.D. ain't about to part with it."

"_Listen, Cora, that guy's one scary customer. I'm sorry I sent him up there, but I just wasn't thinking. You might want to close up early_."

"OK Frank, thanks for the tip. Talk to you later." She hung up the phone, grabbed her keys and headed out to lock the gate. She didn't want any more unpleasant encounters today, that was for sure.

* * *

They headed out away from town, towards one of the remote patches of high desert near the base of a mesa. Dean parked the Impala in the shadow of the mesa and sat, silent, apparently trying to decide how to start. Sam cleared his throat.

"Dean--?"

"It's my fault, Sammy. I'm sorry."

"What? What is your fault? That doesn't make sense. The guy said--."

"What I told you before was true. They told me you and Dad were dead, and I…I couldn't deal with it. You were all I had."

"Dean--."

"The only other thing I had was the hunt. And that Doc, he knew that. He knew exactly what it would take to get me to agree. But I did it anyway. It's my fault."

"Agree to what? Dean, I don't understand. Tell me what's going on."

"Doc, he…he said he could help me be a better hunter. I thought he meant, you know, better weapons, stuff like that, but turns out these 'enhancements' he had…were for _me_."

Sam felt a chill run down his spine. He could barely believe what he had heard.

"For you? What…what did they do to you?" Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Special drugs to, you know, make my…senses work better, and, uh, other stuff. Something else, uh, gene therapy? And surgery." Sam swallowed hard as he felt his gorge rise.

"But that's…that's not ethical." Dean choked back a laugh.

"No, not hardly. But I don't think that mattered. 'We're from the government and we're here to help you.' Yeah…"

"What? The government…why?"

"Apparently they decided the old weapons were out of style. They needed something a little more human."

"That's…"

"Insane, yeah, I know. But it happened. That Doc, there, he got me into the project so he could do what he wanted and make them think he was doing it for them. Meanwhile, he had other plans for me. Unfortunately, someone else didn't think much of the project and decided to eliminate it. They burned the place down about six months ago. I got out, and the Doc did too, but…" He shuddered. Sam was aghast at what his brother had told him.

"I made it as far as Cora's and I've been here ever since. The rest of the story you know."

"Dean--."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. Everything that happened, and then I just dragged you into this--."

"Hey! This is _not _your fault! That doctor lied to you and took advantage of your grief."

"I didn't have to agree to it. I just…never mind. Can't go back now, that's for sure."

Sam felt a surge of anger. Not at Dean, but at the man who had ruined his life…and their father, who Sam was sure was also to blame for Dean's predicament. If he hadn't insisted on raising the perfect hunter, the perfect soldier…

Finally, Sam dared to ask about what had transpired back at the garage.

"The doctor who got you into this, that was him there today? And the guy he killed, that was one of the ones who burned down the…lab?" Dean nodded absently, his attention focused away from his brother.

"What did he want? The doctor, I mean."

"He wanted me to go back to hunting. He started spouting off about demons and something big happening, and that I need to get back out there. He also said…"

"What?"

"He's been tracking signs of demonic activity. The last big outbreak was ten days ago. In Palo Alto." Sam felt as though the earth had fallen out from under him.

"You mean…Jess? That was a demon?"

"Yeah. And if these things follow a pattern, then…"

"Mom, too." They sat in uncomfortable silence. Sam's mind raced, trying to take in everything, to draw connections.

"We have to find Dad. We have to tell him, he can help us find this thing. I want it dead. For Mom, for Jess. It needs to stop."

"Yeah. So now what? Any ideas on how to find Dad?"

"I don't know. I don't know if he's still alive, or even still hunting."

"You think Dad would ever _stop_ hunting?"

"I don't…" He paused, realizing that revealing their father's state the last time he had seen him would just upset Dean more. "I guess not. We should go see Pastor Jim. He thinks…well, he'd be happy to see you, and he might give us a lead on Dad."

"I guess that's as good a place to start as any. He could give us more info on demons, too. My knowledge is a little…limited."

"Not something we dealt with a lot, that's for sure. At least it's a start. And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"No matter what, it's good to have you back." Dean glanced at Sam and gave him a half smile.

"Thanks, Sammy."

* * *

When they reached Cora's place, Dean saw there was a large black truck parked just in front of the locked gate, blocking it.

"Aw, damn it," he muttered. Someone waiting for an appointment, probably. Not one of his customers, though. He didn't blame Cora for locking up early after what happened, but he figured she might be still around the office. He pulled up behind the truck and honked the horn to hopefully get Cora's attention. He leaned over the back seat to retrieve his cell phone from his coat pocket when he heard Sam gasp in surprise and open the car door.

"Sam, where are you going? Cora will be here in a minute or so." He looked up to see Sam standing behind the open door, staring ahead at the truck. With a groan, he opened his own door and stepped out. He turned to the truck and froze. A tall, dark haired and bearded man was staring at him. He gasped in recognition just as the man pulled a gun and aimed it at his heart. He struggled to form the word that blazed through his mind, forcing it out as the man's finger tightened on the trigger.

"_Dad?"_


End file.
